


Light to Darkness

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have always wondered what the wider effects were of bringing Gollum to Mirkwood for imprisonment. And I found my own answer to the speculations as to why Gandalf and Aragorn did not take him to Lórien or Rivendell. This story explores relationships that play themselves out in The Lord of the Rings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Likeness

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the Legolas of my other stories. Here, he is only a few hundred years old, the impression I had of his relative youth when I first read the books.

Mirkwood, Year 3017 of the Third Age

 

Thranduil watched his youngest son pour over the tome, finishing the chapter to which he had been directed. The King swirled the liquid in his chalice, slowly, so as not to distract. The cross-shadows of firelight and lamp brought out the sharpness in Legolas' profile. Comments were made on his good looks, his quiet manners, but Thranduil could see the hard edges as well, steeliness, keen as a treasured blade. 

Well into maturity, Legolas was his most obedient child and, regrettably, furthest from the throne. Thranduil, prone to harshness as he was, saved an indulgent place in his heart for this child born late of a stormy relationship. He resisted the urge to stroke the unbraided hair back from Legolas' face as he had done so often for a young one too caught up in study to care. Instead, he walked to the window and gazed out over the Mirkwood court. 

It had been weeks since his missive had gone to Celeborn, and it was not yet answered. Thranduil set aside longing in favor of business of the realm, but in quiet moments, the lack of response nagged at him. 

He glanced again at Legolas. For a long time, he had suspected that this son shared his preference in bedmates. They had never discussed it. Some young warriors would be insulted at the mere suggestion. No law prevented the choice, yet quiet derision persisted. Thranduil had waited for Legolas to raise the subject, waited for a moment to comment on the topic in general.

"What is this creature, Father?" Deep-set eyes lifted from the page.

"Some say he is one of the river-folk, corrupted over centuries by the One Ring." 

"A hobbit?" Legolas asked, incredulous.

Thranduil smiled wanly. "Not precisely. Though not far from a hobbit in the beginning. In fact, he was Master Baggins' riddler. If only I had realized it at the time, we might have sought Gollum then and brought the Ring back to the elves."

Gravely, Legolas asked, "Could any elf withstand the Ring to do what must be done?"

"I do not know. I would like to think that I could. But that is the hubris off which it feeds."

“What must I do?" Legolas closed the book gently and set it aside, standing in almost the same moment. 

_His fluidity will save him_ , thought the King, _in body and spirit_. "One is coming here who might enlighten us. He has been hunting Gollum for some time."

"Mithrandir?" Legolas brightened. "He's coming here!"

"Nay, my Arrow, do not fly so swiftly. Not your former teacher. It is a man, a ranger. He is the gray pilgrim's friend." 

"Oh." Disappointment drew dark shadows back to the corners of Legolas' eyes. 

_So grave since his mother left_. Thranduil briefly wondered then if the wizard had overstepped his tutelage. The King doubted that Mithrandir would approach one given into his care in such a way, but then, there was his son's effect upon others to consider. "I have meant to ask you whether your teacher--known for certain eccentricities--made any advances upon you." He sipped his wine to cover a moment of nerves.

"Eccentricities?" A dark eyebrow lifted, and the curve of mouth curled further in amusement. "Never. Though such would not have been unwelcome. Being a prince of your household is a lonely business."

There it was. Thranduil sighed in relief. "It has been lonely as King of my household. I should have spoken with you about it years ago. I did not wish to ask and, coward that it makes me, I could not bear to risk your esteem by telling you of it."

"The problem was rather the same from my side of it." A measure of the shadows lifted from Legolas' face.

"As long as you are discreet, as I would require of you with an elleth outside the bounds of formal courtship, you need not abstain for rank."

"You do."

"Nay." Thranduil sipped again, reaching up to brush his dark hair over one shoulder where the weight of it felt less. "For love."

Legolas went to pour himself a glass. Thranduil saw the straightness of his back, his fear in asking the question, his demand of himself that he accept, regardless of the answer. "Tell me."

"Lord Celeborn." The glass slipped in Legolas' always-deft hands and Thranduil reached to catch it. 

"Forgive me, Father, I was startled."

Thranduil smiled grimly. "Understandable."

"And the Lady of the Wood?"

"Ever gracious. She need not worry, she is first in his heart. I must make do with what is left."

Tears suddenly glazed his son's eyes. "Father. That is terrible."

"Not so terrible. We love whom we love, and love is always a gift of joy and sorrow. But the times between do feel excessively long." Thranduil sat and one of his favored cats leapt into his lap without hesitation. 

Thranduil watched Legolas unconsciously swirl his glass in much the same gesture he had employed himself. Their hands were very alike. Thranduil's thoughts ran to who among his court would be a worthy lover for his son. Some interesting diversions came to mind, but no one he could favor as a good match. He wondered who had been the first. He did not ask.

Legolas sipped. "I do grow weary of my own touch," he said, mildly. Thranduil started so that the cat half rose and yowled at him. Legolas laughed, a sound touched with the open spaces, water rushing in spring thaw. "I thought we were being frank," he said, suddenly blushing.

Thranduil recovered himself and stroked the bristled cat into stillness. "Perhaps you might call upon the armor-smith. I do not know for certain but I have a sense that he might be worth some of your time." He would have counted the smile that emerged from behind the fine crystal to be mischievous had this not been his most obedient son.

"I always value your advice, Father."  
*******

The easing in Legolas' shoulders was evident when he dined at Thranduil's table two days later. At meal's end, before formal talk ensued with the contingent from the edge of Rhûn, Legolas stepped behind his father's chair and pressed a kiss to his upturned brow. 

"Thank you," he whispered. "I wish my advice could bring such comfort to you." With that, he slipped away, doubtless to an assignation. 

Thranduil approved. Both youths could benefit so long as neither went too far a depth in heart, for there, they were an ill-match. The King turned again to business and did not think on it until he was shut in his bedchamber.

He had sent Legolas to one to whom, in his own youth, he would have gone himself. Tahlten, the armor-smith, was well-made and witty. Thranduil commissioned objects made by him as much for the piquant conversation and pleasant view--when he purposefully arrived early for something being finished--as for the fine quality of the object itself. Tahlten's braid, wrapped in leather and clubbed at his nape to prevent singeing, swung to the strokes of his hammer. The hair that tautly framed his face was the color of the night warbler's wing. Wiry muscles stood out on skin streaked with steam and soot. Tahlten would sing, or recite mischievous poetry about fair elleths throughout the hard work. A number of such elleths frequented his stall to purchase, to bring refreshments, or to proffer a more clever pretense. He always had a particular smile for the King, and in that smile, Thranduil detected something other.

Thinking of the youth in such detail had troubled Thranduil's ease. He rose from the bed and went to open the casement, letting the breeze and the leaf-sound into his room to cool it. He looked forward to the ranger's arrival, chiefly for the diversion it would provide. Perhaps Celeborn would travel, perhaps not. It was always thus. But the son of Arathorn, even hidden as he was, nevertheless brought with him the air of something noble, something misplaced but not lost, despite his ragged beard and dirty boots. 

The royal children of Mirkwood and Imladris had all lost their mothers, in ways having largely to do with the arrogance of their fathers. It was a pity the realms were estranged, but Thranduil was never one to smooth away a grudge. Knowing such a thing about himself did not change it. He nevertheless intended that the spite between him and Lord Elrond would not carry through to the next generation. Welcoming one of Elrond's children, even an adopted son, was both a gesture and a pleasure.

Thranduil saw lamplight glowing in his private stable across the courtyard and heard a muffled noise. Several precocious elflings had lately taken to climbing upon his favorite horse to see who was bravest, and he had yet to actually catch them. He reached for his robe and had nearly swung it over his naked shoulders when a burst of double laughter reached him followed by loud shushing. He knew one voice without mistake. Smiling, he shut the window lest his too-keen ears hear something they would rather not. Crossing back to his bed, he slipped into the now chilled sheets, welcoming them against his skin. He sighed. He too had grown tired of his own touch. Despite his arousal, he would try to sleep.

In the near-dark, his elbow bumped something hard. He turned up the lamp and saw a book into which a bit of parchment was tucked. He slipped out the scrap. 

_Father,_

_You have helped me so much these past few days that I wanted to assist you in kind. It is amazing what your own library holds._

_Your Arrow_

The book looked old but well preserved, its title unfamiliar. He scanned the first pages, turned a few more, and grinned in surprise. Someone long ago had penned a fiction of erotic tales about a lord of the forest, married to a great lady for the good of their people. The lord harbored a secret passion for males. He had lowering dark brows and a voice of the ancients. 

The character veil was gossamer thin; the author had well-captured the voice of the object of his affection. Thranduil tutted to himself at the overwrought prose, which threatened to overwhelm the dialog. It soon became apparent that the author did not write from firsthand knowledge beyond having seen his inspiration at the baths. Still, the author was creative and did not withhold details.

_He bade me stand for him as he knelt and took me in his mouth. My legs trembled at the long dreamed-of touch of his lips._

The tales did render a familiar touch new.  
*******


	2. A Stone in the Water

Strider arrived on foot, muddy and grim. Thranduil welcomed him quietly, with respect. Legolas observed his father's unusual affection for a human and cocked his head in thought. It would be his duty to tend the guest and there would be much to learn. 

Following his elder brothers and sister, he gave his two hands in greeting. They were clasped warm and hard and he found he did not mind the dirt. He raised his eyes from the customary bow and found them met by weary gray ones. He nearly took a step back to reduce the intensity of the man's gaze. "Allow me to show you to your chambers," he said in common tongue, imbuing his words with a spell for refreshment. 

"I would be grateful as well as honored," replied the man in flawless elvish, returning the favor, though the spell was one of blade-offering, meant to build trust. 

Legolas suppressed an exclamation as his hand flew to his knife. Then, he saw his father's ill-concealed smile. "Do you mock me, Ranger?" he asked gently, allowing a bit of menace to show through his fine manners.

"My deepest apologies, Prince, I did not intend to take you unaware. I wished only to make a reciprocal courtesy."

"My father has apparently determined to test my reflexes," the elf said, more easily.

"They are not lacking," replied the man, inclining his head. "I was raised among elves."

"And somewhere in your line, you share our blood, else the spell would not form. Yet you travel as a common man."

"A ranger is not exactly a common man though he is fashioned from one." Strider brushed unruly and mud-caked hair from his face. He sighed. "Never mind. I think it best that you point me to the baths before either my chambers or the dining hall." 

Legolas acknowledged the request with an amused inclination of head in imitation of Strider's manner. A strange odor did surround the man, a vaguely unpleasant sense of river water and old wounds. Well, the fellow had been through the Dead Marshes, if the tales that ran before him were to be credited. 

Legolas led the way. "There are attendants within to assist you with a scrub and perhaps a soothing of your muscles." Strider regarded him with something unspoken on his lips. Legolas sensed a level of interest in the human perhaps best left unexplored. His limited experience with humans suggested that they all regarded elves with unhealthy fascination. He made a small bow. "I will return for you in an hour."

For a goodly portion of that hour, he questioned his father's historical advisor. He learned that their guest was a refugee taken in as a child by Lord Elrond and that with all due courtesy to the mother and dead father, the child was raised as a son beside Elladan and Elrohir. In time, he had made his own way to become a Ranger. Legolas was impressed. Cyru would tell him no more.

As promised, Legolas waited at the entry to the baths at the appointed time. Strider emerged almost to the minute, wearing clean robes. "I hope that I did not keep you waiting," Strider said, his voice conveying a sense of temporary renewal from fatigue.

"And I hope that you did not spend the time under Hithlain's talented hands worrying about the time."

A smile appeared suddenly. Surprisingly. "I did not submit. I took the scrub, then, a long soak with an eye on the hourglass."

"You have missed a treat," Legolas said, his pulse inexplicably jumping. 

"I will consider your opinion on the matter, Your Highness, and avail myself at another time."

"Your courtesies speak well of you. But I should warn you that here, inside the bounds of my father's forest, only the King's title is observed after formal greetings have ended. I am surprised he did not correct you himself."

"Oh. I had not realized."

"It is one of the ways his children learn humbleness. We may not raise ourselves above the rest of the household. It would be something you could not know if no one prepared you."

Strider sighed. "I did not stop in Lórien for very long this journey. I should have taken a little time to enquire. I dislike being unprepared." He grumbled, "Gandalf might have told me, though."

"Mithrandir! You know him?"

Strider's smile was cryptic. "Indeed."

"He was my teacher for a season each year," Legolas said in a rush, his enthusiasm breaking through decorum. The elf paused in his stride and half turned to Strider, touching his forearm briefly. "It does occur to me that he enjoys mysteries, riddles, and a good joke. Perhaps he did not mention our manners at home in order to see you put off balance."

Strider nodded. "It seems so, as there are one or two other things here for which he might have better prepared me."

Legolas could not read the serious eyes or the amusement that toyed with the man's mouth. He felt uncomfortably drawn; his time with Tahlten had placed such activities too much in the fore of his mind. He spoke to clear such thoughts from his mind. "We are nearly to your room. It is in the northern wing of the palace." Legolas briefly described the layout so that Strider could find his way should the need arise. "There is time for a bit of peace and quiet before dinner," he said, diplomatically. The man looked in desperate need of sleep, but to say so to a ranger would be an insult.

"Thank you." They stood before the great door. "How will I..." Strider cleared his throat. "I am inclined to rest," he said. "Usually I would wake on my own sense of time. But I have been unslept so long that I fear once I shut my eyes I will not wake and thus commit the rudeness of missing your father's table." 

It need not be spoken that Thranduil would not easily forgive such insults, regardless of circumstances. Legolas understood that Strider's pride was fierce. To send a steward would alert one more individual to his vulnerable state, something that the steward would not think on in the least but the man would. Legolas bowed a little. "I will return an hour before the meal. Will it be difficult to wake you?" he asked, gently, lowering his voice. Again, he felt the urge to take a step back at the intensity of gaze focused upon him.

"Not of usual. But it is safe here under your father's roof and I might let go my guard," he replied in a murmur.

With a swift nod, Legolas said, "Leave the door unlocked. I will not enter unless you cannot hear my rapping." He stepped away then and required himself to walk with dignity down the corridor rather than scurry like a squirrel. He had the feeling, even as the door creaked open behind him, that Strider's eyes remained upon him for a long time.

He passed the hours reviewing scrolls and completing his other duties. He resisted the temptation to pay a daylight visit to his lover at the forge, where light banter would have to serve. He concluded that to do so would make the vague yet growing unease worse. Legolas was not an elfling to fail to recognize attraction or mistake it for something other. Strider's effect upon him was not bemusing. The man was, to an elf living among elves, exotic. Rough, strong in a different way from the sinuous Firstborn. Handsome, and though he appeared older, that was a point to increase interest as Legolas had always been drawn to his elders. The unrefined exterior concealed an interior of quiet depth and Legolas, like his former teacher, relished a good mystery.

The problem was not Legolas' attraction, it was reading the man. He knew humans to fawn or fear in the elven presence, but this was a person raised among elves. It felt disconcertingly as though Strider could see Legolas' inner self while Legolas could not see past the man's surface. 

When the time came, he paced his way through the palace to Strider's door and began with a single, firm rap of inverted knuckles. He heard no stirring. Twice, thrice, and no response. There was no point raising his voice, the doors his father had commissioned in ages past were meant to protect and muffle.

The panel swung open soundlessly, as designed, so there was no creaking to do the task for him. Strider had flung himself face down on the bed. His borrowed robes hung carefully on a hook; he still wore the loose trousers given him at the baths. Legolas let go a sigh of relief. As he closed the door behind him, invited though he was, he felt an intruder. A man of ultimate vigilance would not appreciate being watched in his sleep. Legolas was also aware of the danger; even in deep repose, Strider's hand lingered near his unsheathed dagger. 

"Strider," he called from where he stood, imbuing his words with the sounds of the waking woods. "It is Legolas, come to fetch you for dinner."

"Mmph," came the reply. 

He watched, unable to stop his fascination, as the scarred shoulders bunched and slowly, Strider attempted to lift himself on his arms, head hanging. "Orc-spew but I'm in pain," he gasped, making an epithet of an unpleasantness that Legolas had the misfortune to have witnessed firsthand.

He chuckled. "You should have taken the healing touch after all."

"Nay, it is the muzziness. Sometimes short sleep is worse than no sleep," Strider muttered. His hips had not yet left the bed and he collapsed back on his face. "I am sorry, Prince... no, doubly sorry... Legolas. I had not meant for you to see me this way. When I lay down, I had myself convinced I would be on my feet at your first knock."

Legolas walked to set the small tray with its steaming infusion on the bedside table. "I have brought you something to assist."

Strider snorted. "I fear that only force of will such as that inspired by threat of a troll's strike will suffice."

"Let me try something," Legolas said, his uneasy feelings passing in the spirit of solving a problem. 

“By all means.”

Legolas leaned down and grasped the man's head, his fingers sliding into the thick hair and finding several pressure points. Working them with the fingers of one hand, he slid his other to the nape of Strider's neck, sought the spine, and pressed until he felt a bone shift. "Ah, too much leaning on trees in order to prevent sleep," he said. "There." Withdrawing, he returned his hands to his sides. He noticed that Strider's right forearm bore dark, round bruises. He did not ask about them.

Strider lifted his head. "Strange. I felt a jolt in my head. Rather bracing." He sat up, still moving slowly, but moving. His muscles shifted around his frame, flowing beneath his skin in a way that made Legolas turn to the window.

"I could return for you when you have had a chance to collect yourself."

"No need. Have a seat." Strider waved to the chair by the window. "Once you've seen me snoring on my face there seems no need to stand on ceremony. I will be ready in a few moments."

Legolas did not express his skepticism as to quick readiness. Instead, he sat and gazed out the window, trying not to use his peripheral vision as Strider rose and splashed water on his face. "You were not snoring," he said, conversationally.

Strider grunted in apparent disbelief. Still toweling, he retrieved the cup, sniffed, and downed the brew in a single gulp.

"Properly done," observed Legolas, still unduly interested in a dove strutting along the flagstones. When the man passed to don his clothing, Legolas noted that the riverfish smell was gone. _Not personal to the man_ , he thought, with relief.

Strider did not speak again until he was fully clothed and shod. He stood scowling at his feet. "These boots are soft."

"Yours will be repaired by tomorrow morning." Legolas felt his own mouth curling involuntarily. "Are you expecting a battle around the supper table?" He received an amused growl in return as Strider belted on his dagger. 

"Old habits," the man said.

"Survival," Legolas replied. "I well understand." With almost no movement at all, one of his twin daggers was poised in his hand.

"Breathtaking." 

The sound of the word, not just the word itself, made him look. In that moment, he was certain of his instinct, and he shied from the gray eyes, rising to his feet. "I had a fine weapons master," he replied, deflecting the intended compliment into something acceptable between men-at-arms.

Strider inclined his head. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to help me refine my technique, though I will lack your grace."

"I doubt that," said Legolas brightly, attempting to cover his consternation, "had you practiced as many years as I."

"That is, as a matter of truth, not possible." 

Mortality. Legolas had inadvertently pressed the point, reminding the man. "Forgive me," he said, sheathing the dagger, "I did not think." 

"And I do not mind. As warriors, we know that death hunts us no matter the years we hope to be allotted." Strider gestured toward the door. "Shall we go?"  
*******

Although the King had confined dinner to the immediate family and Strider, it was lively. The eldest brother and his wife were particularly merry, having announced a few days ago their expectation of their first child. They had commenced a debate at table as to whether commerce with the Haradrim should expand. Wife took the position for, husband against.

Their sister, Mylin, next to Legolas in age, observed with a dignified air. She nevertheless waded into the argument when a point could be made.

"Isolation can be dangerous," Strider said, courteously. "In the long term."

"So can be a lack of boundaries," replied Mylin, dryly.

Legolas kept to himself more than usual. Part of him fretted for the meal to end so that he could be on his way to meet Tahlten. He was careful not to linger on Strider and hoped that his father would not notice a suppression of his usual curiosity. Mostly, he was patient, and listened.

"My youngest is not compelled to sport his intellect," said Thranduil to Strider, leaning forward confidentially. "Do not be fooled." Legolas was momentarily terrified that his father would chuck him under the chin.

"Better not to show all one's armaments in a fight," Strider replied. "I believe a teacher we have in common would say this holds so for wits as much as weapons."

As dinner was cleared away and wine and fruit replaced the clutter, Thranduil leaned back in his great chair. The room quieted. "I have not told them exactly why you are here. Only that you have come to advise us. I thought it best in case something went awry."

Legolas leaned forward, rapt. A secret. His father had kept another secret.

"It is well," Strider answered. "I have brought a dangerous prisoner to your home," he said, "and though I was well-advised in the deciding, it still gives me pause."

"It was my decision as much as the wizard's idea," Thranduil rumbled. "Mirkwood is already tainted. Would we allow the eyes of darkness to see Lórien? Rivendell?" The heavy tresses shook. "I think not. Lord Elrond has a better library but I have better warriors in this age."

"He is wily and strong." Strider slid back his sleeve and showed the livid bruises along his forearm, a bit of torn flesh on his wrist. "And he bites."

"Not here," replied Legolas, mildly. All looked to him, and he realized how much menace had laced his words.

"Put yourself at ease my Arrow," said Thranduil affectionately, making Legolas blush. "Always vigilant, this one," he said aside to Strider.

"Your vigilance is not misplaced," Strider warned, earnestly. "The creature is unbalanced and easy to dislike. Knowing what is at stake, I was ungentle. I had little hope of gaining information from him in light of what Sauron had done to him to make him talk, but I did not know that when I began. Sauron showed no mercy. Gollum is striped all over his body from the lash. He's been stretched and burned. I regret hurting him further." Strider brooded into his chalice. "Perhaps kindness will work better. But do not let him off his leash."

Thranduil rumbled, "You have released him to my care. Two elves remain awake with him at all times. He is on, as you say, a leash. A mithril leash padded with leather, for he screamed so at the metal's touch that I deemed it torture. We will not be kind and we will not be cruel.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Enough of this talk for tonight. I would like my younger children to sing for you." A lover of song, Legolas shied from the idea and Thranduil saw it. Fortunately, the King placed another reason. "A brief show of your voices," Thranduil amended, "so that you may each go on to your evening appointments."

His sister laughed, "How did you know, Father?" She too had been worried. Regaling a guest could go on for hours. "Cav has such trouble with courtship as it is, stumbling over the niceties, that such a setback as my lateness could frighten him away altogether." That brought more laughter, for Mylin's hapless suitor was well-liked, if teased.

They sang together, blending smoothly as always, trading soprano and alto as they wished. Mylin wrapped her arm around her brother's waist at the crescendo, cheating a little as they did to feel one another's breath for timing. It was a light song of the pitfalls of courtly love, which Mylin had chosen, whispering slyly in his ear. He knew that she was humoring her father by entertaining Cay, and he also knew she did not dislike the choice. That did not stop her from commenting upon the slightest flaw.

As he took his leave with handfasts and touches cheek-to-cheek, he felt Strider's eyes on him. He went to their guest last. "I should like you to introduce me to this creature," he said, holding Strider's gaze. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

"As you wish." Strider unconsciously fingered a bruise. "Be prepared for insult, however."

" _After_ breakfast, then." He bowed to Strider and left.  
*******

"We need to talk," Tahlten said, surprisingly not sleepy.

Legolas raised on an elbow, fixated on the glow of lamplight along his lover's side. He reached out to trace it and Tahlten caught his wrist.

"Listen to me, my friend, it is important." Dark eyes flicked to green in an instant, hearing the term as one of distance rather than closeness. "You like me, yes?"

"Yes." Legolas braced himself for demands.

"Your body hungers for mine."

"Yes." Valar, the mere words made him yearn again.

"You think of me at all hours."

"Most hours," he replied, without guile.

"It is the same for me. But you do not love me."

Legolas struggled for words. He was saved the need.

"Good. I do not love you either." Tahlten reached up and traced the curve of Legolas' ear, making him shudder. "I am marrying. This one, I do love, and she loves me. She wishes me to follow her to the village of her birth. We would leave in three weeks time."

Something deep in Legolas wrenched. "I will miss you," he whispered, his throat surprisingly tight.

"I will miss you and your lips," Tahlten said fervently. To illustrate, Tahlten grasped the back of Legolas' head and brought their mouths together. They did not part for several minutes. "But that does not a life make for either of us." Tahlten reached between Legolas' thighs and stroked until Legolas bade him stop for fear of losing himself.

"You have been with her." There was nothing accusatory in Legolas' tone, and little of it in his heart.

"Yes."

"She satisfies you."

"She does."

_Why are you with me?_ Legolas thought with a flare of irritation, but he spoke gentler words. "Then, be happy." It was in his mind that the touch of an elleth would never satisfy him the way having his mouth locked on Tahlten's cock completed him. He slid into the wiry arms and gave over to the experience once again, wondering how he could feel so detached from something that felt so good.  
*******


	3. Means and Ends

Legolas went to the kitchens early to break his fast, for he had not slept. Those at work there had a smile and joke for him as he was a frequent visitor and never presumed upon them. He took a plate, and making his way calmly around the bustling bodies, he cobbled together fruit, cheese, bread, and a bit of spicy jam.

"You're quiet this morning," observed Azavara. "Even for you."

"I've more on my mind than I care to deal with," he replied with a smile and a peck on her cheek. She had been supervising this kitchen mornings and noon for many years. 

She pinched his cheek. "Don't go brooding, now. Where would we be without that smile of yours?"

"How could a fellow brood while eating such magnificent preserves?" he asked around a mouthful.

"Flatterer," she replied, beaming, and turned back to her flouring.

With his stomach quieted and a strong brew of tea in hand, he walked to the main courtyard and waited. While he waited, he thought. He felt loss, and he faced it. Whether or not he had intended a serious relationship with Tahlten was not the issue. He was just beginning to reap the unexpected benefit of repeated experience with a lover: the ability to touch already knowing what the lover will want, the exhilaration of releasing inhibitions.

Before his talk with his father, Legolas had few lovers, and far between. The recent daily, sometimes twice daily, assignations had released a need in him that he had long kept banked. He was certain this accounted for why males all around him suddenly seemed more attractive. More attractive and wholly unavailable, it seemed, within the bounds of propriety. 

Legolas became aware that he was being watched. He turned his head slowly. 

"Forgive me." Strider unfolded from where he had leaned on the column. "You seemed in reverie and I did not wish to disturb you." The man's demeanor combined deference with a spark of arrogance. He was apt to use submissive gestures, to approach with downcast eyes, yet challenge resonated beneath his surface.

"Of a sort." Legolas stood and stretched. "I find myself short on sleep this morning." 

Strider's eyebrow rose. "We are not familiar enough that I may press the reason, so I will simply ask if you would rather postpone this outing for another day?"

Legolas hesitated. He had not intended his confession of tiredness to yield such a clear path. "I intended no intrigue with that comment," he said, archly. "And I would be fit for any outing on far less rest."

Strider bowed slightly. "Let us be off, then."

The brief ride was pleasant in the brisk air. They spoke of one another's travels and how walking the map brought the wide world into reality. At last, they came to the clearing and outbuildings.

Legolas had prepared himself for many things. The scrawny, pathetic creature, murmuring and weeping, caught him entirely off guard. Legolas' wariness gave way to a swell of compassion. He knelt, without thinking. The creature half-unfolded and hissed at him, spittle nearly bridging the distance between them. Legolas did not flinch. He reached out instead. Strider's hand caught his wrist. "Beware any thought of the elvish way with all good beasts, my friend," he said in Legolas' tongue.

"Nassty elf," spat Gollum, shielding his face. "Too bright. It hurts our eyes." Legolas stepped back a few paces and watched the creature's pupils return to a more normal size. Gollum lowered his hand and bared his teeth. "Without the light, no different than orcses." His eyes narrowed and a canny look crossed his face. "Light turns night, bright to darkness," he said in a singsong tone. "Elf to orc, sight to blindness." He laughed to himself hysterically.

Legolas glanced at Strider, "You spoke truly. He has been tortured. Look at the depth of those scars. And haven't we been feeding him?" Legolas demanded of one of the two guards shackled to Gollum.

The guard shrugged. "He will not eat our food. He says he cannot eat anything we have cooked or touched."

"He seems to prefer insects and worms," said the other guard, with disgust.

"No, no," whined Gollum, near sobbing again, "nowhere for fish, no fast water, no pools for catching. Nothing to eat but crawlers," he whined.

"Take him to the river." Legolas' voice rang in his own ears, the command so evident that both the guards moved without thinking.

"It is too dangerous," replied Strider, with regret in his voice. "He is a good swimmer."

"How far could he run, shackled thus to the strength of two of us?" Legolas gestured to the padded chain. 

"Your father has wisely forbidden him to be taken beyond here. There would still be time, if he escaped here, to catch him in Thranduil's territory."

"Then, we shall fish for him." Legolas strode from the building. He swung himself onto the horse and rode swiftly, anger burning within him all the way to the river. Strider caught up with him as the trees thinned to the water's edge. 

"Do you mean to catch his meal with your bare hands?" The words were mild but laced with amusement.

"I am many things, but not a fisherman," replied Legolas without humor. "At this hour, at least one will be casting nets below the falls." Sure enough, two humans and an elf shared the water. Legolas patiently waited until the second fisherman returned. He did not buy from the elf. Strider and Legolas rode back with three fat fish in a sack, and no words were spoken.

Shaking one of the fish into the straw without touching it, Legolas stepped back and handed the bag to one of the guards. As he moved aside, Gollum fell upon the fish and began rapturously devouring it. Sounds of squelching and snapping filled the air. 

"Revolting," pronounced the second guard, staring in fascination.

Legolas observed the guards' expressions and worried for his people, not for the first time of late. Still, he tried. "Think of him as a cat. My father's precious beasts will sooner consume a still-quivering mouse at your feet as dine on a civilized meal. It is his nature."

"A hairless, foul-smelling cat, then," said the guard, smiling just shy of insubordination. "I doubt he purrs." 

"I can speak to the fangs," said Strider, dryly.

Legolas smiled then himself, a tiny acknowledgment of the fact that Strider had taken his part. He turned heel and left.

"You are wasting your time if you mean to make friends." Strider mounted up and they pointed their horses toward the palace.

"Kindness well done is not done for the thanks." 

"No wonder you burn his eyes," Strider replied with reverence. "All our eyes should burn in your presence."

Legolas did not look at him. "I have my share of darkness."

Strider contemplated him for a long silence. "I do not see it."

"Pray that you never do."  
*******

Legolas felt in need of cleansing, deep in his soul. The stark evidence of Gollum's torture brought fresh to mind things for which he could never atone. 

It had been easy at first to believe that those embracing darkness or the easy path of taking from others deserved vengeance. Protecting the forest, the homes of loved ones and Yvanna's creatures--that he did without question. 

In order to bear the killing, as it increased each year, Legolas devised games with his fellows, and inevitably, it made the task lighter. One day, the game went awry. Watching three of his company cut the limbs from a marauding orc, toying with him, denying him a swift death, Legolas had understood the rage that drove them, but their actions sickened him. Yet, he had not intervened. He had allowed it to continue. Prince of Mirkwood, they would have stepped aside for his killing blow. The creature had died with pride, in unspeakable pain and defiant to the end, demonstrating more honor than his captors. It was a matter for regret.

The lesson carried with him; in order to prevent repeating, he would not let it go. He told himself this whenever the images pressed him. No, kindness was not given for thanks or friendship in return: a fish this time for a horror that time. It was by no means enough.

The baths helped. Hithlain's touch helped. He said nothing and she asked no questions. Seeing his face, she changed the pillow to one filled with strong herbs and the oil she used made him shudder with its first icy kiss until her hands worked it to warmth. While she worked, Legolas turned his thoughts to song, a piece that Mylin was teaching him with simple phrases intricately linked. The focus eased him. 

When he made his way to dinner, hair still damp, he felt stronger. Mylin watched him carefully; in this way, he knew he concealed his feelings imperfectly. Unobtrusively, she wandered behind him and gave his shoulder a squeeze on her way to refill her goblet. Of his several siblings, she would understand his feelings the most, but he would not subject her to the images in his head. She was blissfully unaware, and he would keep it that way.

He did not hear much of the dinner conversation, but his quiet would not be a remarkable event. There were no demands for song, to his relief, and at a reasonable time after the meal, he retired to the children's library, a place of perfect silence and privacy at this hour. His fingers ran over the spines of beloved storybooks, tales read aloud to him by a wizard fit himself to be told in their pages.

He heard the door glide open and sighed. Privacy could not be assured when his sister knew his every expression. He turned to her, trying not to look annoyed.

"I will not stay long," she said with a troubled smile. "I only wanted to make certain you are better. Is it something you can tell me?" 

"Only the lesser parts. It has been a trying day and a night before without sleep. He has left me."

"Oh, Legolas," she said, laying a hand on his arm.

He shook his head, reflexively denying the comfort. "It is not a broken heart. My heart barely entered the matter. It is a more selfish thing, the loss of pleasure that upsets me."

"I do understand," Mylin said, an eyebrow rising, so like his own. "Had I known that invoking the Sister's Right would ensure that my lovers would seem insufficiently passionate, I might have thought more than twice about it."

That brought a tired smile to his face. "Disclaimers were given. It was your choice."

She sighed melodramatically and he knew that mostly, she was teasing. "But only one night. When the terror passes, one night does not seem sufficient. That should be better explained to elleths."

"And to their brothers," he chuckled, enjoying the surge of warmth he felt for the person who knew him best. 

"Even the ones whose preferences lie elsewhere?" she asked, coyly.

He feigned indignation. "Are you now saying that you found me lacking?"

She giggled behind her hand. "Nay. At the rate he goes, poor Cay will have a long road to catch up to you, I fear. Though, he makes a good start of it."

"Give him time," Legolas replied. "He is so smitten with you that his wits leave him and he fears to make a wrong step. Perhaps you should guide him in his endeavors rather than allowing him to flounder so."

She tapped a finger against her lips. "You make a worthy point." She pressed her forehead to his. "What else troubles you?"

He sighed. "I saw the creature, Gollum, today. He put me in mind of... other cruelties. We need not speak of it."

"And you need not shield me."

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Indulge me, then, for I wish to shield you."

Her brown eyes searched his with care. "Very well. May I ask why?"

"It is too easy to taint what we protect by how we protect it. I do not wish that for you."

"If so, what is the difference in knowing or not knowing of deeds already done? I do not value ignorance."

"Perhaps I fear being lowered in your eyes," he replied, softly.

"It is not possible," she said with conviction. "Because I do not wield bow or blade in defense of these lands, do you think I do not consider the wielding on my behalf, or the fury that makes it possible?"

He nodded. "I will think on it. For the moment, I am not ready to speak of it."

A quizzical smile lit her eyes. "Mysterious, always mysterious. Sober to a fault yet lighthearted and singing like a lark the next moment. Perhaps you would be more comfortable speaking with our equally mysterious guest. I have been combing the library for information. So far, I am disappointed."

He guarded his expression and tone. "Have you an interest in him?"

She shrugged. "Curiosity. As I said, I do not value ignorance. There is more to that one than Father lets on. Why is he keeping secrets from us?" 

"Perhaps it is not Father's secret to give away."

She slipped into his arms, and they embraced, taking comfort in a bond of many years. "When did you grow so wise, little brother?"

He snorted. "'Tis an illusion. You will be late for Cay," he murmured into her hair.

"Oh, Valar! I had forgotten." She pushed back and sought her image in the mirror. Legolas watched, amused, as she fussed and then rushed to the door. "Goodnight, Darling," she called over her shoulder.

"Good fortunes, Sister," he called back to the closing door. The poor fellow was out of his depth, but Legolas had confidence he would learn to swim. Mylin needed one with a quick wit and a big heart together in one person, and Cay had both. Pleasing enough to look at, he was troubled by painful shyness. 

At some point, Cay would think to look and would find their record in the temple to Irmo. Legolas often wondered what the ensuing confrontation would produce, or whether Cay would simply step away. Legolas imagined, and hoped, that Cay would opt for confrontation. It was a test, of sorts.

She had been the last elleth to share his bed. Before her, he had not realized what was lacking in the encounters he enjoyed, the missing spiritual connection in the tumble of bodies. Because he and she were already so close, the difference from others was striking, shocking. He had hidden it from her, which was easy given her own emotional turmoil. Afterward, he sought to know, outside his family, where that thread of connection made itself known. Only then did he realize the truth. It was another year before he embraced it.

Later, the theory tested, Mylin was the one in whom he confided. As always, she accepted him, and while offering no advice, gave quiet support. It brought them even, Legolas had said. She was grateful for that, for the imbalance set by invoking the Right could often be difficult to sway.

The weeks with Tahlten had been better than good. The further connection, however, had been shallow, as they had sought each other as much for convenience as any attraction. Legolas wondered if he would ever find one, as his father had, for whom he would yearn with every fiber. In that moment, he consciously held at bay the thought that came to mind. 

He had been pacing the length of the room, and stopped to replace the book he held on its shelf. It was time to retire, his mind in need of a respite from all the thinking. Tomorrow, he would spar, take a fast steed for a run, and start fresh, trusting that Tahlten's absence would mend itself in time.  
*******


	4. Progression of Causes

Exhilaration. His muscles tired already from sparring, he clung to Firiat. As the world swept by, Legolas had moments of regret that he had not left his hair free to tangle with the horse's mane, which gloriously stung his face. He had asked at the stables which of the horses was the most in need of running wild. Not surprisingly, the answer was his father's favorite. This had required special permission, but it was given. "Trust him," was all that Thranduil wrote in reply to Legolas' note of inquiry.

After an easy start, feeling his way, Legolas pressed with his knees, giving his own permission. Loping swiftly gave way to a full gallop. He did not guide, allowing Firiat to go where he wished as fast as he wished. There was occasional terror, as the animal leapt off a seeming precipice or assailed an obstacle that seemed, in advance, insurmountable.

At one point, he caught a glimpse of Strider, walking alone, but he had a chance only to wave briefly before he had to return to clinging for his life.

Firiat drove through rocky shallows that Legolas would have forced him to pick through had he been in control. They were both slick with river-spray as a result. The animal ducked under low trees, but never low enough to scrape the elf from his back. He wove through the forest as though he knew the path, even when there was no path to be discerned. 

The horse's stamina was unsurpassed in Legolas' experience, and by the time he slowed, the elf was drained. They walked as the beast brought his own breath under control. Legolas slid forward and lay along Firiat's spine, allowing his limbs to drape. Another half hour passed. Finally, Firiat's head dropped to drink at a pool and Legolas allowed himself to slip off. He fell back on the moss and looked at the sky.

To be an animal, moving on instinct, without conscience. To do what one did to survive without guilt or shame. To run simply for the joy of running and drink for thirst. To eat without a thought for the pain or lost life of the prey. To lie down and sleep where the ground looked welcoming. It was good to remember. 

But it was not the life of an elf. Certainly not the life of Thranduil's offspring. Legolas sighed. He should get up and dry the sweat from Firiat but he could not yet bring himself to move. He could hear the horse pulling at grass, chewing contentedly. And then, he heard the snort and the jerking upwards of the proud head. He sat up.

"Again, I apologize," Strider said. "It seems I am doomed to disturb your peace." He gestured to the horse. "When you flew by, I thought you might have waved to me, but it also appeared that the beast was running away with you. I decided to follow as best I could." His lips curled in humor. "Though I see that you managed."

Legolas beamed. He could not help himself, for the ride had done much to heal him. A startled look crossed Strider's face. "He did run away with me," Legolas said, nearly laughing with the remembered joy of it. "But I wanted him to; I chose him for that." He meant no double meaning, no intrigue, it was simply his heartfelt truth. In a sudden narrowing of awareness, he sensed its full effect. 

Strider put out a hand to steady himself and found Firiat's neck. Legolas could see the clench of his jaw, hear the shortening of his breath. In that expanded instant, Legolas responded before there was time to think. Heat rushed through him, the color rising in his face. He stood. Strider took a step backward.

Dismay chilled Legolas' desire. His tutors had always admonished that it was dangerous for an elf to reveal his soul before a human, in joy, rage, or any other strong emotion. Trembling, Legolas broke the tension, looking away to gather himself before looking back. "Forgive me," he said, shame in his voice. "I meant no harm."

"I would not term it _harm_ ," Strider replied, his voice caught between humor and desire. He turned to the horse and scratched its forelock. "I have lived decades among elfkind who conduct themselves without regard to a human in their midst. You owe me no duty to hide yourself behind a mask."

"I made you uncomfortable. You moved away." Legolas could find no gentler means to illustrate the harm. 

"It seemed preferable to throwing myself upon you in response to your simple joy," Strider said, his back still turned. 

What swept through Legolas was so unexpected as to be beyond his powers of control. As though dreaming, he felt himself walk the few steps and press himself to the man's back, his arms slipping under Strider's and around his chest. There was such pleasure in merely having Strider's body against him, such a crushing around his heart, that he whimpered. "Alas, there is nothing simple about my joy this day," he murmured against the cool curve of Strider's ear. The man's heart thundered beneath his palm. 

"We are not so far from your father's home," Strider said gently. He stood as though turned to stone. "The horse is canny to have turned back in his wildness so that he would not have far to walk at the end." 

It was a warning and not a rejection, the words wrapped in a spell of affection that Legolas heard clearly. The very idea of letting go, of placing empty space between them hurt. Responsibility won. Were they seen this way, trouble untold would follow. He stepped back, his hands sliding from Strider's chest and along his sides.

"I cannot look at you," Strider said, "and be expected to walk away."

"Then, I will go first," Legolas replied. He reached for Strider's shoulder and squeezed, feeling the hard muscle yield to his touch. "I will come to you, if you wish it," he whispered, and the strangling around his heart intensified. If Strider did not wish it, despair would follow and nothing for it.

"If I wish it," Strider echoed. A moment more passed. "Though I dread the consequences," he said, "I could not wish it otherwise. When?"

"In the afternoon. When the third vessel in the fountain has tipped." He whistled to Firiat and turned to walk home. He could not ride in his present condition.

"Wait," Strider called. Legolas froze and Firiat's nose bumped him. The horse snorted in surprise. "Please, do not turn around. You have a right to know who I am. To have my real name. It may not mean anything to you, nor my father's name, but learn of it. Then decide."

"Decide?" Legolas laughed. "I can think of but one name that would deter me, and I do not believe that you are the Dark One." He heard Strider drawing closer and shivered.

"Aragorn," the name came softly into his ear wrapped in a protective spell. "Son of Arathorn and Gilraen."

"Arathorn!" Legolas exclaimed, nearly forgetting to protect the word. He turned then, but the man was gone, vanished into the trees. 

The wizard's lessons had included the lines of men. Legolas would wrinkle his nose and ask what possible use such facts of the fallen would be. Mithrandir would purse his lips quizzically and refuse to answer. They were both stubborn, student and tutor, but Legolas had the impatience of youth and the lesson would continue on Mithrandir's terms.

It made sense. Lord Elrond would not lightly foster a human. Isildur's line was not broken with Arathorn's death. The line of Kings. A growing sense of horror gripped Legolas. This one would be hunted by all manner of evil if discovered. He had gone to the Dead Marshes, right under Sauron's nose. Legolas swung onto Firiat's back and the horse carried them home while Legolas continued to spin out the threads of consequences. 

Tears welled. Legolas had not felt such moment-to-moment turmoil since his maturity. In the best of hopes, the man would take the throne, marry to produce heirs. He would never belong to the youngest son of Thranduil. Never. If he did, it meant the doom of men. Legolas had never experienced falling in love. He was not sure if this was that experience, but his mind had gone to the furthest reach of the path denied and he felt the pain of it.

By the time he had stabled Firiat, his hands trembling throughout, he knew that there was no real choice in the matter.

The third vessel had just tipped, emptying itself in a tympanic rush, when Legolas crossed the courtyard. He wondered if the man watched from his window or if he assumed that he had dissuaded Legolas. It was the contemplative time in the palace when most everyone withdrew to an hour of quiet before evening preparations. The north guest quarters were nearly deserted, the stewards gone to their own lives.

As he walked the last steps to the door, Legolas felt his body ready itself in anticipation. Fear of later, of the future, dwindled. He raised his hand to knock but the door opened first. He stepped within. The door closed, and he found himself facing the man. "Aragorn," he said, with acceptance. They both moved, bringing themselves together with welcoming noises of need and relief. 

Sexual hunger was a familiar presence in Legolas' life, a nearly omnipresent sensation he generally ignored. Its satisfaction in moments of recent coupling provided an immediate comparison and paled to nothingness. The spiritual tenderness of his distant time with Mylin had ruined him for the beds of other elleths. The way Tahlten's body had fit with his ruined him for love without the thundering completion that only a male could bring him. Aragorn's first kiss ruined him for all else.

All pride in his restraint and skill vanished. He could not get close enough, and in the process of trying to do so with his considerable strength, backed Aragorn into the bedpost. There, still locked in the first kiss, he lost himself against the man's belly as though a youth waking from a dream. He spoke his pleasure muffled against Aragorn's tongue, too shaken to be ashamed.

Aragorn did not give him time to think on it, whirling and pressing Legolas to his back on the bed. Eager hands loosed his leggings and tore them down. He did not know what to expect, did not care, wanted everything and anything. It was doubly shocking, then, when Aragorn took him, spent, into his mouth. He moaned aloud and in doing so, lost the stunning heat. 

"Am I hurting you?" Aragorn gasped, licking his lips. "Is it too soon?"

Legolas caught the man's perpetually mussed hair in his fingers to still his own squirming. "No, please... I am only... overwhelmed." Tahlten had taken him by storm sometimes: minor squalls to this tempest.

"I have no words for the way you look at this moment," Aragorn said. He did not smile. 

Legolas understood that what passed between them was not a matter of happiness; it was a tragedy, the moment in which everything that had gone before, the years of life, became naught in comparison. The years of life to come would be formed by the striving to have such moments with this person again, against all other things in which they should have been happy. 

The dark head bowed again, and Legolas mewled at the heat and the slide of tongue, the chill in each place as Aragorn moved on to suck fluid from his skin. A bruising hand left his hip and in noting the loss, Legolas saw it slide over a wet spot on Aragorn's breeches and squeeze. With a groan, his lips never parting from Legolas' skin, Aragorn worked himself. 

Apparently incapable of moving despite his intense desire to do the touching, Legolas spoke, his throat dry. "I want to see." 

The audible answer was strangled, but the hand made short work of lacings. Bare length in hand, Aragorn resumed, and Legolas gave a low cry of encouragement. Before long, Aragorn spilled himself with a series of painful groans and then fell to the bed, sprawling next to Legolas.

The elf's hands found their way over Aragorn's back. "I should have had my mouth on you," he said. 

"I could not wait, not with your scent in my nose and your taste in my mouth."

Legolas rubbed a hand, damp with the man's sweat, over his eyes. "I am a better lover than that," he said sheepishly, "usually."

With tortured movements, Aragorn dragged himself further up to nestle against Legolas' side. He propped on one elbow and leaned in for a kiss. Tasting himself on Aragorn's lips, Legolas had a deep sense of belonging. 

"I would not trade that for all the arts of lovemaking," Aragorn replied after the kiss. "Feeling you spend against me, through our clothes, desperate. Valar!" His mouth returned, and Legolas luxuriated in lying there half-clothed, giving over with no responsibility for pleasing. "Were there but time to mend the folly before dinner, I would unbraid your hair."

"Another time," Legolas said. "If you wish."

Aragorn groaned and buried his face in Legolas' neck. He sighed. "I feel my years. I would start again, but I cannot."

"I do not feel my years," Legolas joked, "yet I will be useless for hours." He gazed into the clear eyes above him. "I will be no more calm, I fear, the next time."

Aragorn traced his lips with a fingertip. "It matters not. Next time, I will approach you differently, and we will see. For now, this is a fine way to pass the rest of the hour, is it not?"

Legolas tugged on Aragorn's shirt. "I would lie for a while with your skin on mine."

Aragorn gathered the shirt and swept it over his head. He stood and slid his breeches down. Legolas managed to tug off his own boots and kick his breeches away before Aragorn's hands took over the job and removed his tunic. "Move over there," Aragorn suggested with a smile, "out of the wet spot."

Entwined, they began a quieter exploration of each other's faces, hardly moving. And then, for a while, they slept.

The distant bell, a single chime, brought Legolas awake. Waking in someone's arms was a startlement but it soon passed, his chest seeming constricted with emotion. Some of his fingers were splayed on a furred chest, the other hand draped over a smooth hip. Aragorn slept on, though he stirred. 

"Wake," Legolas said gently.

Lashes flicked, and Legolas found himself looking into momentarily surprised eyes. A smile began with Aragorn's lips and lit his whole face. "Not a dream then. Good."

Legolas touched the unfamiliar texture of beard. "I should leave now."

"Perhaps I should not dine with your family tonight."

"They will not be able to smell me on you," Legolas teased.

"It was difficult enough concealing how I felt before I tasted you. I was hiding it from you as well. Now..." Aragorn shrugged, hunger returning to his eyes.

"And I shall have to go on calling you Strider." Legolas frowned. "We will have to manage."

Manage they did, though it felt awkward to create a distance that was no longer there while appearing to get on as well as they had before.  
*******


	5. Precipice

Thranduil perceived it immediately. He saw it through the looks not exchanged, a studied avoidance, and the bloom on his son. Anger rose first, and he put it down. Aragorn would not have presumed under the grace of Thranduil's roof. Legolas was neither impulsive nor short on discipline, which could only mean the worst.

Fear rose next, and he put that down too though with greater struggle. If Mithrandir was to be believed, Aragorn was marked for greatness. He was also marked for certain death, no matter the other turns of fate. His love affair with Arwen was the stuff of legend, her hand his to claim only when he had achieved the throne. Thranduil was certain, however, that the headstrong elleth, as serene as she might appear, had done exactly as she pleased with regard to Aragorn. 

All this meant that Legolas would endure pain, perhaps forever. Warning him would be useless.

At one point, Legolas spoke the name ‘Strider’ with such enunciation that Thranduil realized that his son already knew a part of the truth. A sigh escaped the King's lips. The name, at least, the meaning. But he would wager that they had not spoken of Arwen.

Finally, there was sorrow. This Thranduil held to him, refusing to put it down because it was born of love and he could bear it. He had hoped that his son would not suffer what he had, that in their similarities, they would also prove different. They would share this particular pain after all, and it grieved him.

He could not bless them and he would not curse them. All he could do was pretend not to see and pick up the pieces later.  
*******

Legolas waited until the moon was high. He made sure to be seen wandering out the front gates and into the surrounding gardens, then slipped back in through a secret way. 

He ghosted to the door and did not knock. Slipping inside, he blinked, adjusting to the lamplight and candles. He glanced to the window. It was curtained tightly.

"I wanted to see," Aragorn said. He was naked, hard from waiting, and unsheathed from almost not waiting.

"Brazen," said Legolas with a smile.

"Merely protecting my clothing from overzealous lovers," came the reply.

"Ah. A wise forethought." He untied his loose robe and let it fall, kicking off his slippers. The bathhouse trousers soon followed. Walking to the bed, he scooped a large pillow to the edge and draped himself over it, both feet firmly on the floor, elbows under chin. As overwrought as he was, he could not help the mischief of stifled laughter. He could see Aragorn's astonishment in the dressing mirror. "An inquisitive lover would find that I engaged in preparations of my own," he said to the reflection which swiftly disappeared from view. 

A rough-palmed hand stroked from high on his buttocks down, underneath to fondle him. He held his breath, the rush of pleasure already threatening, but he steadied himself with careful breaths. Almost shyly, the fingers traced backwards and Legolas shivered as they found skin sensitized by oiling. Aragorn groaned.

" _Thorough_ preparations," Legolas added, his own voice taking on a harsh edge. He had asked for it, and yet, as Aragorn's body nudged him, as he envisioned the hand steadying a shaft sufficiently large to cause worry, he caught his breath again.

"Take me," said Aragorn, adding ease and comfort to the words even as he thrust forward hard enough to jar the bed. His next words trailed off into animal noise.

Through the shower of sparks behind his eyes, Legolas could feel pulsing inside, and he sought the source. It was not the throb of either of their hearts, or the twitch of his own straining muscles, but the near loss of Aragorn's control. Legolas moaned unabashedly into the coverlet. "Has it ever been this good before? Not for me," he said, not waiting for an answer. He had taken turns in this with prior lovers, testing the waters. The craving to receive had never been truly satisfied. Each time it had seemed it would be the greatest feeling, and each time, he had been left sore and bemused by the original urge. 

Aragorn rasped, "It has never been this good." Hands stroked Legolas' back and shoulders and finally settled on his hips. "I fear to hurt you."

Arching more and dropping his hands to the bed, Legolas thrust himself back against Aragorn. Crinkly hair ground against him. "If you do not move," he managed to growl, "I will." 

Aragorn broke and Legolas found himself not at all in control of the movement. Another shower of sparks, a burst of blissful light. The slap of flesh, an occasional drop of wayward sweat, the digging of fingernails: these things served to punctuate a steady, relentless pounding. Aragorn dragged Legolas' hips off the bed, tipping more weight onto the elf's chest. Legolas groaned at the loss of friction against his shaft but the angle and the rush of blood to his head where it pounded in his ears soon compensated. 

The backs of his thighs were sensitized to every brush of Aragorn's legs. In a few more strokes, he knew he was close, and heard himself say so, begging for more. As a result of his speaking, Aragorn came first, bursting forth in a few jagged thrusts that sent Legolas over, and losing his balance, collapsed along with the elf's hips to the bed just in time to extend the bliss for the one beneath him.

"You are still hard." It was the first thing Legolas could manage to say after several long minutes. They had shifted to their sides, chest to back so that Aragorn's weight would not crush the breath from Legolas.

"Mm. So it is," murmured Aragorn, shifting a little. "Strange."

"Wonderful. Do it again," he said, earnestly. Goosebumps raised on his skin.

"What?"

Legolas gripped the arm that Aragorn had wrapped around him. "You heard me."

Aragorn grumbled in astonishment, "We will both be sore."

"Since what moment did you begin to fear a little chafing, Ranger?" Legolas baited him.

Breathless, Aragorn took the bait, throwing a leg over to gain leverage. At first tempted by Aragorn's further release, Legolas could feel the gathering in his own body, the internal stimulation making the unlikely possible. "Ithil's light," he whispered, "me too." When Aragorn locked a hand around him, he cried aloud, too far gone to be glad for the thick door and battened windows.

Aragorn's sweat slowly cooled on Legolas' skin. It was a curious sensation, oddly intimate. The man's arms were still tightly wrapped around his chest; ragged but slowing breaths sounded in the ear that did not rest on the pillow. Legolas wanted to proclaim foolhardy things at that moment, a desire of which others spoke but which he had felt only before release, not after. This change signaled likely disaster. He did not speak the words, yet he smiled to himself.

"You touch a part of me I did not know I had," Aragorn murmured, disbelief strong in his voice.

Legolas nodded, his cheek brushing against the pillow. "Do you regret it?"

"It is a complication. But I cannot bring myself to feel regret for it." Aragorn's thumb traced the curve of an ear.

"In a life of complications, what is one more?"

Aragorn sighed. "There is far more that I would explain to you. When I find the words."

Striving to put as much reassurance into his response as he could feel, Legolas answered, "I will be ready to listen."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "I must warn you that I have few words when I do find them."

"Truly?" chuckled Legolas. "I would not have guessed. I do not find myself disappointed by our... conversations."

Aragorn laughed, the mood lightened, and Legolas smiled with him. "Soon, I will need to return to my chamber."

"I would rather you did not," replied Aragorn.

"There is no help for it."

"I know." Aragorn nuzzled in, under Legolas' hair and mouthed the nape of his neck. Legolas shivered in immediate response. It was time to go before either of them could recover further. Squeezing Aragorn's hand, he lifted the man's arm and slipped from his embrace. The resulting disappointed growl made him grin. He turned and flattened Aragorn back to the bed, surprising him. "Do not expect that I will always throw myself beneath you," he said, cheekily, dipping to kiss Aragorn's navel. "It has been a rare thing for me."

Holding Legolas' eyes, straining a little against the hands pinning him to the bed, Aragorn spread his own thighs. "Stay."

The invitation was clear. Legolas' vision blurred with the rush of desire. "I must go, for now," he said, his voice ragged. Aragorn nodded, closing his eyes. "I cannot kiss you," Legolas said, "it would shatter my will." He eased himself off the bed, taking the pressure off his hands and then allowed his fingers to trail down Aragorn's skin. He dressed swiftly, lest either of them lose their resolve. From the door, he looked back with a smile. The one he received in return was touched with their new connection and with sadness. 

As Legolas slipped out through the secret way and circled back to the front gate, he had an uncanny feeling about that look, a sense that he would see it again and know, without asking, what it meant.  
*******


	6. Resolution

As he practiced, he became aware that Aragorn watched him. He fired again into the spinning target, giving the man time. 

Legolas had awoken sore indeed, but happy, and sang so in the kitchens that Azavara gave him a sharp eye and a sharper elbow. "Beware the lasses," she said. 

"Aye," he replied, trying to nod soberly rather than laugh aloud.

She jammed her hands to her rangy hips. "Heed my age and wisdom, pup. Do not rush into anything. With all those whose eyes light up for you, take your time and make your choices."

If the world were different, if he were not Thranduil's son, perhaps he could tell her the truth and bear the consequences. Perhaps she would not be shocked. Perhaps he could speak of his heart and those around him would share in his gladness. But the world was not different, and this was the King's house. Still, he would not lie. "I will take my time, 'Vara. I am not one to quickly wed no matter the will of my heart."

She smiled indulgently. "It is well then. I do not mean to scold you, grown as you are."

"You care. I do not hold it against you," he said, hugging her and causing her to sputter and wave him off.

The practice field had seemed a good place to work his sore muscles and his nagging anxiety. At first, he had to consciously work past the strain in his legs that affected his balance. By the time he retrieved the first flight of arrows, he felt himself again. He set the target swinging and returned to his place, adding five paces to the distance. 

The first arrow had left his fingertips when he heard Aragorn approach. Legolas tilted his head and smiled. The man's deeply serious expression signaled that Aragorn had found his words. Legolas nodded once and returned his attention to the target.

"I am betrothed," Aragorn said, bluntly.

It should not not been unexpected, however, Legolas felt the breath catch in his chest. "Betrothal is a formal arrangement." He glanced sidelong at Aragorn while nocking another arrow. "Is the matter more than formal?"

Aragorn's eyes remained locked on the target. "Yes."

"I see." Legolas aimed, taking longer than usual. He fired. "Still?"

"I do not know. I think, yes."

Legolas turned to him. "I do not ask you to choose. Not after one night. Perhaps not at all." Aragorn met his gaze with all the turmoil that Legolas felt himself. The daylight and the public space prevented Legolas from touching the man. "I mean what I say." He fired another arrow, releasing as much fear with the shot as possible. "Do not mistake me," he said calmly, "were it fit to do so, I would say words of devotion to rival a blushing youth of little sense."

"Why is it not fit?" Aragorn breathed, stepping closer.

"Mind where we are," Legolas chided.

Aragorn stepped away again. "You make me forget myself."

"It is not fit because someone has a prior and superior claim. One that may be granted in the eyes of all, unlike mine. What you do about that is between you and her." He fired again. "What I do about it is mine to own." His concentration was slipping. "Even were you unfettered, I have my own duties and have given my promise."

"You are betrothed?" Distress was evident in Aragorn's voice.

"Nay. But I promised my father discretion, and he shall have it." Legolas had spent his last arrow. "Your response to the idea that I might be promised is bemusing, since you are not free yourself."

"I know," Aragorn said sorrowfully.

"Let us not make demands upon one another," Legolas suggested. "I am new to this desire for pledges and do not yet know my mind." He turned to face Aragorn. "Only my heart. Perhaps it is not to be trusted." He smiled. "It may have been fooled by other parts of my body." Hope burned in the man's face and found its response in a leaping elven heart.

"Mayhap we are both fooled," replied Aragorn. "I intend to explore the possibility thoroughly."  
*******

Mylin found him in the children's library again, rereading a tale of dragons. It was a far gentler version than the truth, and yet, he could recall his wide-eyed fear as a child, Thranduil's voice-of-the-worm rumbling against his neck. 

"Brother."

"Sister," he replied, brightly. It was an old game.

"You are hiding."

"I am seeking."

"What are you seeking?"

He thought for a moment. "Solace."

She knelt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "There." He laughed. "See," she said, kissing his cheek, "all better. Can you tell me?" Her gaze often seemed distant, cast upon farther subjects, but tonight, they focused with all the intensity of the fire burning at his feet.

Legolas drew her up to sit on the footstool. "I am smitten."

"That, I can plainly see for myself," she scoffed. He did not hide his dismay. "Because I _know_ you. The others are oblivious." She nibbled her lip. "Except perhaps for Father."

Legolas groaned and lay his head back, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. "Wonderful."

"I simply cannot deduce who has gotten under my brother's marble skin."

He watched her closely for signs of teasing. There were none. "Truly?"

"Truly."

He sighed in relief. "Perhaps all is not exposed, then."

She drew her knees up under her chin. "You can confide in me. I think you need to speak it to someone."

He drew a length of her hair through his fingers. He would not insult her with extraction of promises. "Strider." He felt somewhat guilty not telling her the man's real name.

Her surprise was genuine. Palpable. He gave her a few moments. "How unlikely,” she said, at last. “I was joking the other night, you know."

"I know."

"So, you suffer," she surmised. He suppressed a smile but not before she saw the hint of it. "No! How wonderful!" And then, she frowned. "How terrible."

"Yes. The sneaking about, pretending to treat him as a guest, is bad enough. Falling for a mortal, that would be sufficiently troubling." He closed the book lying open on his thighs and set it aside. "But it is worse." She waited expectantly. "He is betrothed. And he loves her."

She sighed. "Males can be so wretched. Why is it so difficult to be happy with one love?"

"That is a larger question perhaps not to be laid at the feet of all males." He frowned. "I find myself quite certain of late that I could be happy with one." 

Mylin sat quietly with him, at a loss for words. Finally, she caressed his cheek and gasped at finding it wet. "My darling," she said, "follow love, even if it brings you pain. We do not know what awaits in the future and I would not have you pass over the joy that I have known, for mere solace."

He nodded. "This afternoon, I thought that I had a choice to make. But I know that when I leave this room, I will go to him. It is weak. Another failing."

"Tomorrow, take me to see this creature, Gollum."

Her change of subject and the thread of connection between the two startled him. "Are you certain?"

She only smiled at him.  
*******

The morning chill settled on their cloaks as they rode side-by-side. Mylin hummed a merry tune that lifted spirits despite the errand. She did not question Legolas.

The night had been strange. He had gone to his chamber to change his clothing and found a note. Unsigned. " _Please do not think of staying away. I cannot bear it._ "

He had taken another circuitous route to Aragorn's chamber. The quality of his anticipation was different. He arrived in the man's arms with relief. They held one another for a long time, swaying like the tall trees surrounding the palace. Neither spoke. 

Slowly, belatedly, hands and lips began what was to follow. They fed upon one another, and when they were exhausted, still, neither spoke. Legolas fell asleep and Aragorn woke him after an hour, apologetic. Legolas reassured him that it was the right thing to have done, and returned to his own bed more weary than he was accustomed to feeling. He had awakened feeling wistful.

The low buildings came into sight and Mylin halted her humming. They dismounted and walked together. Her hand found its way into his and he squeezed it. The guards made way with more solicitation to the princess than they would have spared for Legolas. It amused him. A little room of sorts had been set up, but Gollum refused the amenities, preferring to huddle under the table and hoard various objects there.

"I think he would have liked the dungeon," said the first guard, dryly. "And then, we would have better duty."

"Do you question the importance of your post? I will gladly take your assignment for the rest of the week." The words left his lips coldly.

The guard flushed. The rules were that they would not use titles, but he was not unaware of Legolas' status. If a prince would stand this guard, he would keep it. "It is my duty, not yours."

"Has he been outdoors?"

"Not since the day before yesterday. He does not like the light."

Keeping his distance, Legolas knelt and spoke in common tongue. "Would you fancy the crunch of leaves under your feet? To fish for yourself?"

The wizened face appeared from under the edge of the tablecloth. "The river?" Gollum’s eyes were narrowed.

"No. A pool not far from here." Legolas watched him closely. "That is the best I can offer."

"Yesss." He shuffled out from under the table. "If Master will be so kind."

Legolas recoiled at being called, "Master." He glanced to the guards and returned to elvish. "I will take your place and Mylin will take yours." The two exchanged a worried look. "It is an order. I believe that if my orders do not directly contradict my father's..."

"Yes." The first guard bowed and spoke the spell that released his mithril cuff. Legolas extended his wrist.

Mylin gasped. "Will he not simply learn the spell?"

"He is clever, but he says that elvish burns his lips. I believe him. You should see what the unpadded cuffs did to him."

"And one must believe in the Valar for spells to work," the other guard said after releasing his own cuff. "This one lost faith long ago if he ever had it." He bound Mylin's wrist. 

"Will his touch harm us as ours does his?" Mylin asked.

"Only if he bites you," quipped one of the guards.

Legolas was watching Gollum. "He understands us, you know, most of our words, if not all." The great eyes widened though Gollum managed not to otherwise respond. Legolas whispered to his sister, "I do not imagine that the touch of our bare skin would harm him. Only the touch of objects imbued with spell in the making. Perhaps it is best that he thinks otherwise."

Gollum did flinch at the morning light, but he soon adjusted and skittered ahead as they walked, as far as his chains would allow, careful not to let the unpadded links touch him. Legolas and Mylin did not talk. He let her absorb the look of the jagged scars and newer welters, bones broken and improperly reset. Livid bruises could be distinguished about his face and upper arms, the marks of Aragorn's interrogation. 

"This is why we do not allow torture," Mylin said, at length. "He may be evil, he may be dangerous, but he is also pitiful. The ends cannot justify the means."

"What if he held the key to Sauron's defeat?"

"If we torture him to get it, evil greater than Sauron will reign through us."

"What if I were captured, and he knew where I was held?" He felt his sister's eyes rest on him.

"Would you wish your life purchased that way?" she asked, tears in her voice.

"No."

"I would find you," she said. "Some other way. You would not behave so."

"It is time you knew," he said. "I have watched things like this done, and did nothing to stop it."

She halted abruptly, bringing Gollum up short with a hiss of protest. "By elves? Breaking the Law of Prisoners?"

He nodded, flushing in shame. "And not always for information. The worst was for vengeance. They dismembered an orc alive." There. It was said. His throat tightened.

"Did you... participate?" She was shaking.

"In the questioning, yes, on occasion. Not when I witnessed the worst, that day. I did not intervene either, and I could have. They would have listened to me."

Her eyes lifted to his and he read there surprise and anger at him. "Does Father know?"

"No." Legolas feared to tell his father, feared to learn that perhaps it was Thranduil himself who had encouraged the practice as times had grown more desperate within his borders. There was a certain ruthlessness in the King which opened the possibility. They were not so different at the core, father and son, protective and provokable. His thoughts were interrupted by Mylin's arms coming around him, pulling him close. He could feel her shaking and he touched her in comfort. "If I could undo it, I would. It grieves me for you to know this, but it is part of who I am." And she had pressed him for it by declaring his purity with such conviction.

"I love you, Legolas. I only... never imagined you being cruel. Even for a purpose."

The feeling of her disappointment squeezed his heart. She was trying to reassure him with her embrace, but her dismay was strong. "I know," he said. "Neither did I." There was a sudden wrenching on the chain and he looked up.

"We are so hungry, Precious," Gollum said, both wheedling and menacing. "Elveses waste fishing time." He crouched lower and his voice followed. "Besides, orcs are cruel. They would eat you alive and laugh. They enjoy your pain. It is not only useful." He cackled and thumped the chain against the ground. "Kill or die, die or kill."

The blood drained from Legolas' prickling face. Indeed, Gollum understood their language even if he dared not speak it. "We must be careful, with him," he said to Mylin, stepping away from her. To stand close would invite Gollum to trap them both in his chains.

"Yes." She suddenly looked as though she had not slept the night, perhaps several nights. "Thank you, for your honesty. I know you did not wish to tell me."

He tried to feel that the distance between them was not more than the loss of her embrace, the ten paces each took to separate the chains. The walked the rest of the way in silence, conscious that their prisoner was listening, always listening. Apparently, Gollum could smell the water, for without the benefit of height to see, he ran ahead as far as the bonds would allow and plunged in without hesitation. Mylin found a rock away from the lip of the pool and settled on it. Legolas stood where he could watch Gollum swimming. The creature could hold his breath a long time. He would remember to tell the guards.


	7. Reckoning

Loss had settled more heavily over Legolas. His own innocence about his character had died with the orc prisoner those five years ago, but he lost something afresh in the telling to his sister, for she was his friend more than a sibling. 

And he had found first love; he did not shy from the acceptance of fact. But he had found it where it could not be expressed, not truly and fully, and it could not be enjoyed for long.

He went to his father. The expectant look on Thranduil's carefully masked face suggested that all would not be news to his father. He wondered _which_ revelation would prove to be none at all. 

To his relief, it was that which he explained first.

"No, I am not surprised," Thranduil replied.

"Are you angered?" 

"I have some inkling of what this means for you," Thranduil replied, with an ironic turn to his voice. He paced the room, slowly, stopping to touch a figurine rubbed smooth by many such touches. 

For the first time, Legolas realized that this fixture of his father's office had been a gift. An object, abstract and lovely, there to be seen and touched in place of the person. “There is another,” Legolas added.

His father nodded. "Her name is Arwen. Do you know who she is?"

For the second time that day, Legolas' face prickled with loss of blood. He had not asked Aragorn, thinking, foolishly, that a name would make her tangible. "I have met her. In Lórien. She is Elrond's only daughter.” He resisted the urge to sink to the floor. He had sung with her, and ridden with her. He would have counted her a friend though they did not correspond.

"And you know the legend of Elrond's House? The choice she faces?"

Legolas steadied himself. "I do."

"I do not believe it is a legend, but the truth of the situation. The human cannot fully grasp what this means, though I believe that he tries." Thranduil's eyes turned colder. "You would have no such excuse."

"I understand."

"Do you? I do not tell you to end this folly. I know that you would obey me and forego the knowledge of deep love. I cannot tell you to be strong, and honorable, where I am not."

"I have no choice but to love him, Father. But I will not interfere with his destiny. Or hers."

"The stone has been loosed and the ripples widen." Thranduil stepped closer and took his son's face in long, delicate hands that could crush a skull or capture a hummingbird. "It seems that you are part of their destiny. Mind your part carefully. I trust you."

Those last words caused such a rending in his soul that Legolas gasped. He swallowed it to silence. "There is more, Father. It bears on your trust in me and I will be silent no longer."

A dark eyebrow rose. "What more?"

"I have taken part in acts that have broken the Law of Prisoners." His father's fingertips seemed to burn as they fell away.

"Truly?"

"Yes."

Fury gathered behind the careful mask. "Wait." Thranduil stopped him with a flick of his hand. He stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Send me Kethis," he hissed to the guard. Leaving the door open, he stalked back to where Legolas stood. "This is now a formal proceeding. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my King." What was to come grieved him for his father as much as for himself, for the King could not be seen to favor his son in such matters, and the consequences would be harsh. At the same time, joy and love welled in him, for his worst question had been answered as he wished; Thranduil had not condoned or encouraged the lawbreaking.

Thranduil's secretary appeared in the door bearing his inkwell and journal. "Come in," the regent commanded, "I require you to transcribe the statement of this member of my elite guard. As you would for any other," he warned.

"Yes, my liege," Kethis replied, visibly quivering. He sat and opened his journal, tossing his long braid behind his shoulder.

Calmly, Legolas gave his statement. He watched Thranduil's rage tower with each passing detail. He named his company in each incident, but he did not name the individuals. 

"You will not call the perpetrators to justice?" Thranduil's rigidly controlled voice encouraged flinching. 

Legolas struggled to remain steady. "My King, I believe that if you call them forth, the more worthy will present themselves. If you command me to name them, I will obey, but I will not of my own volition deprive the stronger of the opportunity to come forward."

"You did not need to be called," his father gritted out, "you are apparently the strongest, if late in your fortitude."

"Seeing something in the suffering of the creature Gollum called me out," Legolas replied, softly. "Else, I might have gone on finding the truth unworthy of reckoning." The rigid blankness of Thranduil's face against his smooth hair made Legolas' throat tighten. The scratch of Kethis' pen filled the ensuing moments of silence.

"You have jeopardized not only your own life, but the well-being of your family, the respect of our laws, and the safety of our realm."

Legolas swallowed convulsively. He could only nod.

"I must publicly sentence you on the dais, before the advisors, the captains, and whomever finds it entertaining to attend!" Thranduil's voice thundered ominously, as the color rose in his face. "I will give the others until sundown tomorrow to stand beside you. Any found to have broken the Law of Prisoners, who do not willingly submit at that time, will be exiled without recourse. You are confined to your chambers until then," Thranduil's voice broke at the end, "under guard." He swept out of the room, robes swirling.

Kethis ceased his transcription but could not raise his eyes. Legolas stood, waiting in silence, until two of his fathers' guard stepped into the room. He moved forward, between them, trying not to notice their struggle against the shock of their orders. Ah! The pain for his father had only begun. One of those two would either answer the call to stand at his shoulder tomorrow, without warning of the alternative, or he would be banished.

As they walked him through the compound, he heard his sister's cry of disbelief, and knew that his father had been swift to give the news. Neither was he spared the begging tone of her voice that drifted further and further away as they walked. He thought his chest would burst from the agony. 

Later, with the door locked behind him, he offered a prayer of thanks to the Valar that his mother was far from this harm. One by one, the family came, his brothers and their wives, with disbelief expressed in tears or quiet. In particular, he searched Naiemar's eyes; the captain of a company, his brother well knew the pressures of the field in these times. Legolas did not see him waver, understood the steadfast pain in his brother's eyes, and even as he blushed in shame himself, he felt a swelling pride. He clasped his brother's hand, glad for faith in the stronger. Naiemar squeezed his hand tightly and made a gruff farewell.

Thranduil did not come.

The hour was late when Mylin entered, tearstained. Legolas shrugged, his arms opening in supplication. She filled them, sobbing against his chest. He held her, unable to weep himself. 

Finally, she said, "He will not permit Strider to see you."

Legolas' stomach clenched harder. He had not truly expected to be allowed that privilege, but the mention of it almost brought him to his knees. "He is within his rights, Mylin."

"He is our _father_!"

"One could say of me that I am his son, and should have protected all of you from this."

"You ask too much of yourself. Always!"

"Nay, my sister, in this, I did not ask enough. You know it in your heart." He rocked her, gently, and spoke to forestall any denial. "Besides, if Strider were here, with guards at the door, worse would come of this yet." Oh, how he ached, though, at that loss.

Mylin snuffled against his shirt in protest. "No one close to us is that bigoted."

"You must trust me when I say that is not the matter of it. Please forgive me, love, but it is not mine to say why."

She pulled back and searched his face. "As it seems honor requires you, I understand." She tried to compose herself, failing miserably. "What will happen to you?"

He stroked her cheek with a thumb, rubbing the salt-wet into her skin. "Not death, and not exile. That much I am assured."

"I will not leave you tonight," she said fervently. His brows knit, and she reached to soothe them, her tears flowing freely. "Father will have to drag me bodily from this room if he wishes you to suffer this night alone." She paused, uncertainty flickering. "Unless you prefer me to go."

Now his eyes stung and he knew that relief would come at last. She pulled him down to the bed and there on the eiderdown, where he was not taller, Mylin held him like a child while he spent his grief and finally slept.  
*******


	8. Atonement

In the darkness just before the birds stirred, he had been permitted to bathe in the full purification ritual. He now wore undyed linen trousers, robe, and slippers, hair unbound. His guards left him unfettered, doubtless more to spare his family’s dignity than his own. Regardless, the youngest son of _this_ King would not contemplate escape. Legolas smiled wanly to himself. He could have disappeared many times over before choosing this fate had that been his way.

They led him into the bottom of the amphitheater. To look up and see all the expectant faces, horrified, disbelieving, sad, threatened his ability to stand. As he was drawn past, he did his best to keep his gaze level and his demeanor undefiant. He was, after all, entirely in the wrong. 

Family, friends, acquaintances, and fellow soldiers waited in uncanny silence as the guards escorted him up the stairs to a wide dais set below a marble throne upon which Thranduil waited, as stony as his seat. His father’s eyes were focused in an expression reserved, not for criminals, but for those who had been trusted, and who had betrayed. It was, as it happened, more than Legolas could withstand. Against all of his training, he felt unstoppable tears begin. He bowed his head to the king, and then raised his face again, trying to convey acceptance of the King’s will. 

Thranduil regarded him for a long moment, slender fingers gripping the carved lilies that served as hand rests until a fine whisper of sand drifted to the stone beneath. He eased his grip and stood. His eyes flicked away from Legolas to the gathered throng. 

“My people, today begins an atonement. That atonement shall be individual to those who transgressed, but also, through my blood, my own,” pausing, Thranduil flicked his gaze to Legolas and then back to the gathering, “and as your King, my own. 

Although we are under constant and growing threat from the darkness that gnaws at our borders, we are Eldar, the firstborn, and we do _not_ take joy in the suffering of others. We are the stronger people, and we must persist through discipline, training, intelligence, and wisdom. Retaliation is a stratagem of limited use, and revenge has no place among my soldiers or my kin. Legolas, you will now state your crimes and face my sentence.”

There were distressed murmurs at that and then a deeper hush.

Legolas did not attempt to brush away the tears drying on his skin. He straightened his spine and cast his gaze across the crowd, noting in passing Mylin’s defiant look, and trying not to focus upon the sight of Aragorn standing at the end of her row. He swallowed away the sour taste of shame. He spoke plainly. “My King, and my people, I violated the Law of Prisoners. Firstly, there were interrogations that slipped outside the formal bounds. I actively took part in several. Secondly, our company took orcs in a battle, which is not unusual. But on this occasion, having disarmed and incapacitated them, some of the Guard fell to tormenting the creatures. It had been a difficult skirmish and wounds were taken, but none of us had been irreparably harmed. I did not feel concerned about the first blows of my fellows—orcs respect displays of dominance.” 

“What should have been done with _my_ prisoners?” the King interrupted, descending the stairs halfway. His rage was barely contained.

Legolas bowed. “We should have brought them before you for judgment. Whether you would order release, imprisonment, or death, torture is not our way. Killing outside the immediate need of defense of self or others is not justified. The nature of the enemy does not change that Law.”

Thranduil nodded but his voice remained cold. “I wished to know whether you understood that there was more than one egregious error in your command. Proceed.”

“Those who began it were enraged at taunts thrown and threats given during the fight. I believe that the rage ran higher for other transgressions, race to race, that had nothing to do with the individuals in our custody. 

The situation devolved until several of the Guard began cutting one of the prisoners and then hacking off his limbs one by one.” Here, Legolas had to pause as the details of the scene replayed behind his eyes. “Although the pain must have been beyond bearing, the prisoner did not cry out or beg. He did not invoke our Law. In all probability, he did not know of its protection. It was my place to speak for him. But even after I met his eyes and saw there his suffering, I did not perform my duty. I did not attempt to intervene.” He turned to his father, knowing that in all likelihood, he would not gaze upon him again for a long time. “I make no excuses. I have known since that day that I did great harm to our people in that act of passivity. In the past week, I have come to understand that this Law is essential, perhaps more than any other. 

The enemy, the darkness, does not reside only in others, but in ourselves. If the light is to prevail, it must prevail in each of us first. For my failure in this, I place myself at your mercy with my full confession.” Despite the disintegration of his life, he somehow felt stronger now than when he had begun. This had needed saying, in front of all. It brought peace to the storm of remorse.

The King’s pale cheeks were flushed, and Legolas could imagine the shame roiling with anger and loss.

“It distresses me to think that any of the Guard might have believed the matter reported by you and therefore condoned by me. You failed to report to me until yesterday, allowing the harm to be compounded with a belief among others that I would turn a blind eye, say one thing in Law and mean another in the field. Speak to that.” 

“Sire, our pact was not to report what happened. The Guard trusted me because I wrongfully gave my word. If there were individual doubts as to your position on the matter, they were outweighed by the belief that you would do as you are doing now. My silence was asked, and given, to protect those valued members of the Guard who had transgressed. But I should not have agreed. I was a leader in their eyes, even without command, and I did not act as such. My responsibility exceeded that of others present, my inaction compounded the harm, and my promise of silence, actively given, was unforgivable.”

There were several moments of quiet, with leaves faintly rustling in the breeze, during which Thranduil’s gaze bore into his.

“Because you have come forward on your own conscience, however belated, you will not be exiled nor sent below to the dungeons. Instead, you will inhabit a cage beyond the frequented paths, able to see the sky and the woods. But you were a member of my elite Guard, and a leader to many who strayed.” Thranduil’s voice did not falter. “As you have stated, your duty to act was greater, and your influence might have averted much other harm.” The King’s chin came up a notch. “Your rank is stripped. From sundown tonight, you shall have no visitors but your guards, no news of your family or our people, no participation in our realm, for the next year of moons.” 

The pronouncement brought a susurrus of gasps across the crowd. The King descended the rest of the stairs, unsheathing his sword. Legolas forced himself not to flinch or shy. His father stood before him, tall, beautiful, and terrible. He reached out and wound Legolas’ hair about one hand. 

“From this moment until you are joined again with our people, you shall not have a name, and you are not my son.” The sword shushed, and the weight of hair vanished, its remnants sliding along his chin as he bowed his head in acceptance. “Begone.” He did not see Thranduil turn his back, but he felt it and heard the others do likewise as he was led away.  
******* 

A robust individual all his long life, Thranduil could not recall feeling so stripped of strength ever before. He sat in his study, eyes directed out the window, seeing nothing. Even the cats did not dare to approach him; they watched from high places around the room, tails twitching. 

His faith in everything had been shaken. That was unfair to his son, to have placed so much of his perception of the world on those shoulders. But it was so. His own failings, his weaknesses, had not seemed to pass to Legolas in the smallest degree until now. But that sense was naïve, and one’s fall should not be further for others’ unrealistic expectations. He sighed yet again. 

The brisk knock was that of his daughter. The thought of facing her, her ire, was almost enough to keep him silent. “Come, Mylin,” he said, his voice weary.

She entered softly, her face set with determination. But the anger of earlier hours had burned lower. “Father,” she said, primly.

“Daughter,” he replied. “Forgive me, I do not think I can stand.” He returned his gaze out the window.

She came to stand beside his chair and they looked out together. 

“I know… all that you are to each other,” he said at last. He meant it to sound understanding.

“Ah. You mean, all that we _have been_. Legolas was never my lover. Only my choice for the Right.”

“I know. Because of that, I understand the depth of your trust in him.”

“Yes. I… I too believed him to be perfect. Above reproach in all things. But that was my doing, not his. It does not make his breaking of the Law _more_ wrong. If such is possible.”

Thranduil shook his head. “I did only what I had to do. I did not punish him for my _disappointment_.” He could hear her fresh tears despite her effort to be quiet.

“Yes, you did.” Her voice shook. “He took Gollum to fish.” 

Thranduil was too startled to reply.

“We kept him chained between us and only took him to the pools, not the river. Legolas has been adamant in his instructions to everyone that we not soften any precautions. But he admonished the guards for demeaning the creature. He understood why it… _he_ was not eating our food. Your son treated him with compassion and dignity, despite all indications that Gollum’s corruption runs deep. That is the core of Legolas and it has always been so. Believe me, Father, he is so disappointed in himself that losing face in our eyes is a distant second.” 

Tears started behind the King’s lids and he did not suppress them this time. “Mylin, a year without him. It is…”

“Nigh unbearable? Far worse than having the Laws read to you, one by one, each week by your gathered subjects? I should hope so. The sentence you imposed is extreme. Even the condemned receive visitors and word of their loved ones. In no small part for the sake of the loved ones as well as the imprisoned, but still, for one such as Legolas, it is close to cruel.”

He could hear the sharpness of her anger under the words. “He will not be entirely alone, I have seen to that,” he replied with equal sharpness. He looked up at her and then softened. “I left him the light and spared him longer exile, child. The ones who did not admit their part fared far worse.” But the ones who had come forward, while imprisoned and stripped of rank, would have visitors, news of the world outside, and had not been rendered nameless. 

“He came to you knowing that you would make an example of him.” 

“He thought _I_ was allowing such incidents.”

“No, Father, he was almost certain you were not, and his small measure of doubt was natural. We do not always know the ones closest to us as well as we think.”

Thranduil wondered, briefly, whether Legolas had told his sister of Celeborn. He dismissed the thought. The two were close, but Legolas closely guarded confidences, as evidenced by his long refusal to expose the other violators of the Law. 

“I have done nothing wrong in this and am punished along with you both,” Mylin said with some rancor. “Cay and I wish your blessing upon our betrothal. We were going to come to you today. But we will defer until my brother may once again be part of announcements and celebrations.”

“It only adds to my sorrow, Mylin. But I well understand.” The weight of the year to come felt crushing. A year of moons had always seemed fleeting in Thranduil’s experience except when awaiting his beloved. He knew this one would be the longest yet of his life. 

Mylin interrupted his brooding. She nudged a creamy scroll into his hand. “I have brought you a letter from Legolas. Read it. There are hours until dusk.” She placed a brief hand on his shoulder but did not kiss him in her usual manner. More prices to be paid.

“But come dusk, Mylin, as painful as it is for all of us, we must remember not to speak of him. All of this is not only for show. We must live it.”

For a long moment there was only silence. “Do not worry, Papa, I will endure for every moment that he does.” Her clothing rustled as she left. 

It did not escape his notice that the skein of silver hair laid out on his desk had slightly diminished. He touched it briefly before turning his attention to the letter.

_Father,_

_It is to that beloved person that I write tonight, not my King. In the daylight, I will face the latter’s judgment and accept all that comes._

_I am sorry for the pain I have brought to you, the whole family, and our people. But I am most sorry for the suffering I caused that unknown warrior. It is one of those evils that cannot be undone._

_Mylin sleeps at my elbow in these small hours, guardian though she tried to be. Thanks to her, I grieved and have slept a little. I will miss her voice, her humor, her songs, and I must emphasize, her wit and wisdom. Do not dismiss your daughter as too many of the Eldar do. Should you ever choose another to rule in your stead, it should be her. I say this with all respect and love for my brothers. None of them has failed this family as I have. But still, she is your best successor should you ever wish one._

_I must ask you a favor for her sake. It is possible that Cay will search and find invocation of the Sister’s Right. I have never spoken to you of this, but I feel certain that you already know. He is her choice of mate, and I think you find him worthy as I do. Betimes with the Right, I have observed that a fellow cannot feel secure without confronting or besting the brother in some way. While I am unavailable, my name will still rest in the temple with hers, and should Cay discover it, I ask your intercession to deliver him a letter and a gift that I have prepared and left in my chambers. As it is dated before the events to come, I have signed it._

Thranduil rubbed his aching eyes. Somehow, Legolas had known what his King would do although it had been unprecedented in his rule. Even exiles retained their names. He had a sudden urge to go to his son—there would still be time before dusk. But then, he had already cast him out and turned his back. Perhaps the towering anger had caused him to overreach. But the sentence must be honored. He smoothed the curled page and read on.

_And then, there is… Strider. I dare not write other than that name. I have resolved that what I want cannot be, not without paying a price none of us can bear. Loving is the greatest gift of the Valar, and I shall not attempt to extinguish it. Instead, I must feel it most deeply and nurture it without seeking its like in return. You, of all, know that burden. For that reason, I ask that you allow him to see me one last time. If I do not look into his eyes and tell him myself to be free of me, he will not believe it. You have no reason any longer to trust my strength, so I will understand if you cannot grant this. But I beg it of you just the same._

_Finally, I only doubted, Father, because we are so alike. I knew you would not compromise the Laws, but then, I had. The frightened child in me who wishes so desperately not to be separated from you, that child somehow still hoped that the horror could not be my responsibility. I harbored a wish that my actions would be your fault, that somehow I only intuited your intentions and followed them. But that would only be waking from one dark dream to another. I am eternally grateful to have awakened instead into the light. It makes what is to come bearable._

_We shall have to find another nickname for me, as your arrow has not flown true after all. Perhaps I may earn another in time. I love you. Be well._

_Legolas  
_

At last, Thranduil wept in earnest, and only then did the cats leap down from their perches to find their way into his lap.


	9. Lessons

Legolas waited, despairing as the hours wore on that Aragorn would not be allowed to come to him. His eyes ached from staring at the concealed gate all day. He did not eat, telling the guard to pass his plate to the occupant of the adjacent cage—an uruk recovering from the loss of one arm. The food was accepted, and consumed, without a word to either of them. The guard left without further comment.

It was a great mercy that he had not been consigned to the dungeons. He had been resigned to that course, meaning that he had resolved to survive without going mad. In these times of onslaught, Thranduil’s court had accustomed itself to living quarters in the twilight close beneath the earth. But the dungeons were deeper. Either his father’s love or his pride would not chain his own blood in the dark.

At dusk, Legolas finally lay on the bench facing the gate, pillowing his head on his hands. He had earned this outcome, and if his father allowed a visitor after the particular sentence that had been passed, it would be more than any other in his place could expect. Even so, his last moments with Aragorn would take place under hostile eyes. The King had ensured discomfort either way.

The low grinding of hinges warned him, and he sat up. He watched Aragorn approach alone, without his usual assortment of weapons. For the first time, he saw the man's slow grace as regal, and the realization wrenched his gut.

It seemed a long time yet before they were eye to eye. "Forgive me for waiting until dark," Aragorn said. The usual soft murmur reverberated in Legolas’ chest. “As I am not one of your people, I am not bound in the same manner, just as I did not turn away today."

In the shame of his exit, Legolas had not noticed. He slipped his hands through the bars and gripped Aragorn’s tightly. “Thank you for that.”

“Your father agreed to allow me inside the gates without the guards, and I wanted as much privacy as possible." He stepped in and encircled Legolas as best he could, bars tight between them.

"We are not alone." Legolas shrugged a shoulder toward the adjacent cage. "Father saw to that as well." A deep, bestial chuckle drifted to them and he glowered over his shoulder knowing that the uruk could see them clearly. He spoke loudly enough to be heard. "He could go below, but he has already demonstrated that he is completely without shame." He lowered his voice. "I was unaware that orcs had such frequent... needs."

A glimmer of humor played at Aragorn's lips and then vanished. "To his knowledge, we are anonymous lovers. I will not spend this parting in courtesies wasted on him." He kissed Legolas fervently, a hand cradling the back of the shorn head. 

Reluctance vanished in the desperation of the moment, and Legolas pressed his face hard to the bars, arching his throat, granting as much access as possible. Aragorn's lips traced cheek, ear, neck, in turn as Legolas made them available. "I cannot breathe when I think of you leaving," he sighed, fumbling at Aragorn's shirt. 

Aragorn suddenly grabbed his hands. "Not like this," he breathed.

"Yes," Legolas said fiercely. "Like this." He fell to his knees and stripped open Aragorn's belt.

"What if the guards return? Your father..."

"They dare not. They think you are here for council. About the creature.” His voice tightened. “And I have no father." His fingers groped through a tangle of laces, shirt, and underclothes. He pulled Aragorn to his mouth, groaning softly to find him ready. Fingers curled against his scalp, and Aragorn yielded a strangled groan. Legolas wrestled a hand upward, underneath Aragorn's shirt. He could feel the man's heart pounding against his ribs. He put his love and his desperation into every touch. He could not take him deep enough to satisfy the ache in his chest. As it was, Aragorn lasted a scant time before spending with a muffled series of grunts that Legolas felt rather than heard, for the blood rushed too hard in his ears.

With rough hands, Aragorn righted his own clothing and dragged Legolas to his feet. He sank to a crouch and soon had Legolas at his mercy, mouth busy, fingers delving far into his breeches. Legolas clutched at the bars, struggling not to cry out as he came with Aragorn's fingers inside him. Before he could slip to the ground, Aragorn's arms were back around him. "I love you," Aragorn murmured into his ear.

Legolas stood in shock. "That cannot be."

"It is." Aragorn pressed another kiss on his mouth, tongues fleet as they exchanged the taste of one another. "I love you."

Legolas allowed himself to feel the joy before he firmly set it away from him. "You love her as well."

"Aye," Aragorn answered softly, turning his face aside in dismay. 

"And there are other duties, as we spoke of before."

"Yes."

"Do what you must. I will not hold you from it. I am here, in this place, for a full cycle of moons. Afterward, I do not know what my life will hold." He wrapped the knowledge of Aragorn's love tightly around his heart to protect it from his next words. "But there is no place in it for loving you."

"You do not feel as I do?" Aragorn asked, frowning.

"I cannot." He strangled the words, but they were said. 

"Then, what was this? These days and nights together, I felt more from you."

Legolas did not answer, he could not. "Thank you. For all of it. You will be safe?"

Pain evident, Aragorn answered, "I cannot promise that, you know my errand."

Legolas put both hands to Aragorn's face. "Be safe," he encanted. "Go with the grace of the Valar. And I will hope to see you again. Someday, _mellon_." He pressed a last kiss to Aragorn's lips. "And please give our tutor my greetings," he added, his voice catching. 

With a final clinging together of fingers, they released one another. Aragorn took a few moments to right his disarray and then paused. "If you discover that your heart is not as you believe, I will find a place for you in my life," he said, searching Legolas' eyes. 

"That is a dangerous promise, Ranger." He allowed himself that much.

Perhaps Aragorn understood, perhaps he did not. He said, simply, "I mean to keep it."

"Farewell," Legolas replied. He watched Aragorn leave much as he had arrived, one shoulder higher than the other, his head bowed. The man looked back once, then disappeared around the corner and Legolas heard him pound on the gate. 

It was over. He now faced twelve months and twenty-seven days of near-solitude, but for the constant presence of an enemy of the most challenging sort. And after that, he would spend the span of a mortal life holding himself away from that which he most needed.  
*******

The sharpness of stubble, then the velvet of lips and wetness of tongue on the nape of his neck—Legolas clutched the moss beneath him in an effort to remain still. It was a tremendous risk to be out of doors, naked together, but being with Aragorn while surrounded by the forest was an aphrodisiac sufficient to overpower any worry of discovery. 

He concentrated on breathing evenly, just barely keeping the rich pressure in his groin at bay. Fading sunlight dappled through leaves onto his hands. He focused on that, gaining a few more moments.

Aragorn moved but a little, thighs clutching him. They were both struggling to prolong the joining, and they were both failing. 

“I will lose my soul in you,” Aragorn murmured. “You are the Valar’s most magnificent creature.”

He awoke to Aragorn’s rough voice in his ear, only to have the dream fade. A simple pallet in his cell, not the soft earth of the forest floor. Alone. He rolled to his back and touched himself strongly, in silence, before the dream could dissipate.

He had begun a routine: dream of Aragorn, awaken, release, wash, break the fast, exercise, read or write, meditate, take a light lunch and read, circumnavigate the cell fifty times, practice blade-work without a blade, read, daydream of Aragorn, release, sketch, write letters, sup, circumnavigate the cell the other direction fifty times, meditate, watch the sun set, read by lantern, bathe, think of Aragorn, release, sleep.

By the time he fell asleep the fifth night of captivity, he had not only revisited every moment of his brief time with Aragorn, but had invented several more scenarios that would never be. It occurred to him that only madness lay in wait for him on this path. He would have to ration the memories more carefully, and the fantasies even more so.  
*******

On the eighth morning, the uruk spoke to him for the first time. The creature had just, astonishingly, finished a bath with soap, choosing cold water and declaring it bracing. 

Legolas felt grateful for the slender half-wall engineered to curve around each bathing trough on the facing sides. The accommodations quarried into the bedrock were stark but elvish nonetheless. And there was a reason for open-air baths. The builders had devised to harness gravity, and the spring water channeled through small pipes for washing and drinking, to clear the privies in the sheltered sleeping areas beneath. Finer facilities were not to be wasted on the incarcerated. A diverter selected from the cold springs or the hot springs, the latter lending extra heat to the rock in the chill times. 

As the stairs down ran on the inside of the wall near the tub, there was no need for walking about untoweled and unclothed, yet the creature stood naked and dripping at the bars addressing Legolas. "I am Azog-ra, by Azog out of Ra-na. How are you called?"

Legolas recognized the sire's name and shuddered. Azog was nearly as old as he. "Until next year, I have no name. It is not for lack of courtesy that I cannot give you one in return."

Azog-ra spoke with a menacing edge. "I'll fashion a name for you, thin one, don't worry. We're kin, after all, aren't we?"

"You eat us, your _kin_."

Azog-ra shrugged a shoulder. "We eat the weak in our own ranks, even if they are family. It is both practical and respectful." He ran a clawed finger over his own ear. "You can't deny the resemblance."

"You are a parody of an elf," Legolas snarled back in orcish. "A perversion." Sorrow for his own bad acts did not make him a friend of the orcs.

The other's fangs showed in a smile. "You should see yourself, loathing me. I am a reflection of everything inside you.”

That struck too close to home, and Legolas did not answer.

“I am as your people could be if you were not so weak. If you would realize that serving the Master is inevitable and accept his gifts."

"His gifts?" Legolas laughed, then considered the logic. "If so, I am a reflection of everything inside you, as your people could be if you took your choices into your own hands. If you realized that his _gifts_ are chains."

"I take plenty into my own _hand_ ," Azog-ra answered, somehow referencing both his amputation and his appetites at the same time, punctuating with a fearsome grin. He leaned his good shoulder against the bars. 

Legolas turned away and paced to the far side of his cage. "So typical of the ignorant to change the subject when at a loss for an answer."

"I would like to know the answer to a mystery--why you are here. One of their own."

Legolas considered ignoring him. But the word _atonement_ drifted through his mind. "For watching my fellows cut the limbs from one of yours while he yet lived. Among other things," Legolas replied, grimly. He would not lie.

"You are punished for that?" the uruk asked, incredulous.

"I am imprisoned for thirteen months, for _that_."

The other snorted. "Did you enjoy it?"

Legolas remained silent. He felt certain that expressions of remorse would put him at risk.

"A shame you must pay for it then.” The uruk returned his baleful stare. “I do not understand your people. War is war. There is no place in it for… _ófelmë_."

To Legolas’ surprise, he used an elvish word for compassion. "That might well be where our people differ most. Are you sorry that you live?"

"I am sorry that I live in a cage. Your folk can never let me go."

Legolas contemplated that thought in silence. 

"I will make the best of it. If I return to my people, I must either fight all challengers and prove I can beat them one-armed, or be killed and likely eaten."

Legolas grimaced. "Barbaric."

The uruk shrugged. "It is survival. Your people must know something of life’s practicalities or you would not persist against us."

Legolas looked twenty yards out to the walls and the treetops beyond that would be his only landscape for the next year. "I thought I understood survival. Now, I think it is more than a matter of practicalities." He added, “We do sometimes let you go.” 

The responding grunt of surprise was interrupted by the sound of the gate slipping open. Two guards entered, bringing food and small supplies. One was very young and wore his weapons as yet unfamiliar objects. It chilled Legolas to understand that Azog-ra could perceive this as easily as he.

Purging of the companies and the Guard in the wake of his revelation had resulted in the loss of no little skill and experience. They were lucky not to be at war. Some three-dozen of the guard had come forward and now inhabited the dungeons or cages like this one. Legolas ventured a guess that none of them had a cellmate like his. Several more of his former compatriots had disappeared, exiling themselves without facing the condemnation of their King and families. These would never be accepted home, and they would eventually find _never_ to be a very long time.

The elder guard greeted Legolas without using a name, but still showing a measure of respect beyond what he should have. Legolas suddenly wondered how they referred to him amongst themselves. He went to the writing table and retrieved a sheaf of paper from the drawer. “These are for your new captain. My observations of Go… the special prisoner.”

The guard nodded and replied in a lowered voice, “We moved him to the dungeon, but it seemed ill-advised. He sang to himself in the dark and grew craftier. He has been restored to his prior location.”

“Good. The light is better for him, no matter his preference, and for our watching,” Legolas said. “But do not let him free of the chains. Never that.”

“I will report it.” 

The younger guard had been staring at Azog-ra, and seemed loath to approach the cage to leave the package. 

Legolas said aside to Azog-ra in voice meant for both guards to hear, “What will happen if you harm your jailers?”

“I will be killed.” The reply was matter-of-fact.

“Do you fear death?”

Growling a sound that made the young guard take a step back, Azog-ra replied, “I am Uruk-hai. We choose death _in battle_. I do not seek it elsewhere. Killing puny food-bringers will not achieve my escape or bring me glory.”

The young elf eyed the prisoner warily but approached and slipped the package between the bars before stepping away. Both guards left without another word, nodding to Legolas.

Azog-ra made an odd noise that might have been a harrumph as he watched the elves leave. “You are a weak and soft creature, but not entirely stupid. Perhaps I will not die of boredom after all.”

Legolas stifled the urge to smile.   
*******

A day or two past the equinox, Mithrandir strolled up from the gate holding a chess board under one arm. Legolas briefly lost his composure, but in joy rather than sadness. They clasped forearms for a long moment.

“I am glad to see you looking fit under the circumstances… Greenleaf.” In the presence of another, the wizard opted for a nickname. “This is a bit stark, I must say.”

“The hardship lies not in the accommodations, but the lack of freedom to come and go, and the absence of friends and family. I am very glad to see you.”

Mithrandir placed a gnarled hand atop Legolas’ head and rubbed it as he had so many years ago with a small elfling. Legolas almost laughed. Turning his attention to the next cell, Mithrandir approached. “I see that Thranduil’s temper ran exceedingly high,” he said mildly. “How do you do?”

Azog-ra blinked back at him, startled. He appeared to be formulating a response, but Mirthrandir turned back and busied himself dragging over a stool and setting up the chess pieces.

“I have been instructed not to give you any news of the realm,” Mithrandir said, gruffly. “I am not, as you know, particularly obedient, nor do I owe allegiance in the way of your people. But I can see that the warning has… practical use and therefore, I choose to abide it.”

Legolas nodded as Mithrandir proffered the white side of the board. “I well understand. I have used some of the time to write and pass along my observations on various matters, but I do not expect responses. Father is nothing if not steadfast.”

Mithrandir eyed him. “You are not the first good person to miss an opportunity to do the right thing. I am of the mind that this lesson is too extreme.”

“I disagree,” Legolas replied. 

They exchanged moves in silence for a time. “I will say that in the world outside your father’s boundaries, there is a lull, a peace that both gives me hope and causes me concern for what it might conceal. It has allowed me time for various investigations, and yet, I feel that the darkness is still moving. We must remain watchful.” 

Legolas nodded, his eyes sliding briefly to observe Azog-ra staring out the opposite side of his cage. The large ears flicked. He might be granting some privacy to the conversation, but he was listening. 

Mithrandir followed his gaze. “Let us speak of more personal matters. I met the ranger in passing as he went on his way from here. He related what had happened with your trial. There was something in his telling that revealed more than I believe he intended.” The blue eyes peered at him, intent under shaggy brows. 

Meeting those eyes, Legolas summoned his courage and nodded. “What of it?”

“In my long life, I have seen many bonds forged in unlikely pairs. This one should not surprise me, and yet, it does. I wish to be happy at the joy it should bring you both. But the larger events swirling around you…” Mithrandir shook his head sadly.

“I am aware, and I have withdrawn any claim,” Legolas said, simply. “The rejection was, I believe, successful.”

“But that does not ease the pain.” Mithrandir appeared to deeply consider the position of his queen’s cleric. “You are lately come into acceptance of your…attractions, I think?” 

Legolas smiled, wanly. “I was aware for some time. Then, I knew, and tested. I have only recently revealed myself to Father. We were closer as a result. For a few days.”

“It strikes me that in becoming more yourself to him, you were compelled to reveal all that had been hidden. One revelation met with acceptance. Then, a confession. Not a coincidence, I think.”

“Most certainly you are right,” Legolas sighed. Then, he said, mischievously, “Father asked whether you had ‘made any advances.’”

“The very idea!” Mithrandir exclaimed, thunderously. 

Legolas flinched at the power in his voice. 

“He should know better than to think I would approach a student under my care.”

“When Father is being overprotective, everyone is under suspicion, even his most trusted advisor.”

Bracing a hand on each thigh, Mithrandir leaned back, appearing somewhat mollified. He took out his pipe and packed it. “Well, I will say this on the subject. It is not fair, but it must be said. You have a way in the naturalness of your spirit that draws others in, that calls to the heart, the spirit, and the body, even against one’s better judgment. It requires no small measure of strength to resist. Strider has never struggled with loyalty before, and he has the moral constitution of five men.” He paused, and then continued somewhat sternly, “You will have to have a care with that power.”

Contemplating the board to avoid looking at Mithrandir, Legolas considered. “No, it isn’t fair.”

“It is a great gift, child. Like all great gifts, it can be a uniting force as well as a divisive one. If it is any comfort to you, I have loved you from your first laugh at a grumpy teacher’s minor jest. I see that you are beguiling to others, but your effect on me has been in the purity of your heart, not the call of your flesh. When I say to have a care, you are not responsible for how others respond to you—that is their burden. You are only responsible for the intentional use of your power. For example, had you trusted yourself and spoken to unite your fellows, you would have averted a great ill.”

Frowning, Legolas found he had no reason to dispute the observation. “I am thinking that when this imprisonment ends, I will leave the wood for a time and travel. It has seemed so difficult before to be far from those I love. Now… in some ways, it is an eternal condition to which I must adapt.”

“When you are free, and are reunited with family, you might find yourself especially loathe to leave,” Mithrandir said, kindly. “It is difficult to know, from here, as you are trying to live with the isolation.”

“Strider spends his life mostly alone. He said that he seems most content in that condition. At times these long days, I begin to understand him.”

“Hmmm. I am given to understand that one of the reasons our particular ranger chose a solitary life is that numbers of intelligent beings, acting together, often behave as a pack to all sorts of ill ends. It is a natural response, I suppose, to defer to a leader for survival. He does not wish others to become that in his name.”

Legolas moved his queen. “He will need to overcome that in order to… do what is expected of him.”

“It is a concern.” Mithrandir advanced an ent and removed a rohir from the board.

Legolas snorted in dismay and settled back to contemplate his next move. The defensive formation he had created suddenly yielded an insight. “He does not trust himself. He must experience the loyalty of others, demonstrated with intelligence and wisdom, which differs from that simple, mindless following, or worse yet, acting evilly in the name of another and calling it following.” 

Mithrandir’s eyes were kind, and perhaps sad. “You always were one of my more astute pupils. In my occasional positions of influence, I will see what I can do to arrange for such an experience. On another subject, I have read your insights into the special prisoner and have found them most useful.” 

“I believe that you had him brought here in order to avoid learning about… other places. It was a discerning choice, but we have vulnerabilities the others do not. Just have a care when you question him. He has been ill-used. And not only by the enemy.”

Mithrandir said nothing. He moved into checkmate.

Legolas sighed in resignation. 

Back still turned, Azog-ra interjected, “If you mean to best an Old One at battle-board, you will need to live a great deal longer than you have.”

Legolas nearly leapt to his feet in surprise but caught Mirthrandir’s quieting gesture in time to stop himself. 

“But perhaps you’ll prove a worthy opponent for me, Lul Gijak-Ishi,” Azog-ra said.

Mithrandir said, aside, “’Flowers in the blood’ is a term they sometimes use for elves. While not complimentary, it is one of the less offensive things he could call you.”

“I might shorten it to Lul.” Azog-ra finally rose and came to sit as near them as he could. He studied the board for a few moments. “The bearded one distracted you with his words. It doesn’t seem like you to have missed that.” He gestured with his thumb. Raising a canny gaze to Mithrandir, he said, “He has been careful not to use your name, even when you first arrived. But I know your likeness, _wizard_.”

Raising an eyebrow, Mithrandir regarded the uruk. 

“I am no enemy to you today.” Azog-ra shrugged his armless shoulder. “And it is unlikely that we will ever meet in battle.”

Mithrandir narrowed his eyes. “You are… unusual.”

Azog-ra chuckled. “Legend has it my great-grandmother bred with an Old One.” He thumped his chest. “Pure snaga-shite. Still, it helps to have a reputation. She had a medallion that she swore was a gift from him.” He pulled it out from under his tunic, a mithril piece struck with a familiar profile. It had been drilled and threaded with a leather thong. “Even the elves were afraid to take it from me.”

Legolas watched Mithrandir closely throughout the exchange. 

A smile spread over the weathered face. “Tis a good story. I would imagine that piece was taken by your kin in a raid on the dwarves. One of the dwarf-kings of old had the idea to mint a few of these as a jest. I was somewhat younger then. And alas, I could not be your great-grandfather.” He did not elaborate. Instead, he stood and turned to Legolas. “Keep the board and pieces, it appears you’ll have use for them. I must go.” Again, he placed his hand atop Legolas’ head. “It is unfortunate, but I am unlikely to visit again this trip.” He bent and kissed his student’s forehead, something he had not done in many, many years.

The kissed place felt warm for hours afterward. Legolas remembered that feeling from childhood, a sense of being cherished and protected. It helped him fall asleep that night.  
*******


	10. Likenesses

"Lul, do you know how uruk brains taste?"

They had shared this space for three long months. Legolas knew that if he did not answer, Azog-ra would just keep talking. "Of course not."

"The same as elf brains. Or deer brains. Nourishment. The seat of the prey's power. Nothing more."

Legolas shrugged. He felt beaten down by his cellmate’s lack of seeing anything as sacred. He slid to sitting, his back pressed to the bars. "You hate me. Strange that I don't hate you."

"Hate you?" Azog-ra snorted. "I could have pissed into your cage. I haven't."

Legolas resisted the urge to move away. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm explaining that I do not hate you."

"But I am weak," Legolas replied with a dangerous smile, recalling their early exchange of words.

Azog-ra growled. "I have not said that in two moons." He tapped the bars with his claws. "You are a disciplined warrior. Each day, you practice as though you had weapons. You take care that I don't see too much, in case I do escape against all odds, and tell tales on your technique. You do not complain. You do not make those noises of misery that elves and humans make when they are lonely.”

“You mean weeping.”

“Even when your man left, you did not _weep_."

Legolas stifled a groan of embarrassment. He had tried to forget the uruk's presence, had written it out of his memories on his pallet at night. "It is not weak to feel and to live anyway."

Azog-ra grunted, but did not disagree, for once. "It bothers you that I speak of your man."

"He is not mine," Legolas retorted.

"You are shamed," laughed Azog-ra. "By everything. How unnecessary."

"And you, it seems, are shamed by nothing." Legolas rose and stalked to his stairway, retiring downward into the limited privacy of not being seen. He heard Azog-ra shift down the bars toward the opening to his own den. But the creature remained above ground, where his voice could be heard. 

"By most of my people, your race is considered ugly, insufficient. You are puny in comparison to us, soft-skinned, concerned with trappings, trivial. I have come to see you differently, shorn-one." His rough voice took on a warm rumble. "You are like this bar that I can encircle with my whole hand so that my fingers overlap, but I cannot break it." The surface of the bar sang a little as the rough palm stroked it. "I would like to touch you. And it would not be to hurt you."

Huddled in the dimness below, Legolas did not feel revolted. He squeezed his eyes shut against the images. It had been unbearably long since anyone had touched him, since he had so much as stroked a cat or hugged his father. Too long since Mithrandir’s kiss of blessing. He was starving for comfort. To even consider the rasp of those leathery fingers and claws on his skin to pass for comfort, he must be far gone. 

"I will spare you my further thoughts this night if I can," Azog-ra chuckled. "But I prefer the open air. Stay where you are. You'll be angry at me again if you don't." His bulk shifted away to a further place. 

Legolas lay still, telling himself that he needed to clear his mind, to meditate. Instead, he found himself listening. He marveled that Azog-ra had not simply stayed where he was; the creature had never had a care for privacy before and had taken a certain measure of satisfaction in Legolas' disgust. Azog-ra might be luring him in, playing upon his compassion and his inherent desire to trust. As he had played ignorant in the beginning until Mithrandir’s appearance.

The noises were softer this time. Legolas tried, for once, not to project his distaste onto what transpired, of necessity, within the span of his sharp hearing if it was to happen at all. Rutting horses had never put him off, though he would laugh at their antics, on occasion. The cats, circling and hissing in their elaborate animal rituals had not upset him. A lover’s unabashed groans and grunts while touching himself were the stuff of his fantasy. 

Legolas managed to bring his vision to blackness. To only listen. It was a lonely sound, was it not? It began plaintive, if an orc's voice could ever be described so. He might sound that way himself if ever he allowed himself to be heard. 

As matters advanced, it changed with a sudden snarl. The rhythm of breathing grew staccato and Legolas held his own breath as a predator’s roar of completion reverberated across the clearing. He covered his eyes. He was hard. It was humbling and he could not bring himself to do anything about it. 

When it grew fully dark outside, he slowly went back up the stairs and drew a bath. The roof of the cages blocked the stars directly ahead, but he could see the band of sky between the distant wall and his roof. He undressed and eased himself into the water with a sigh. His hair was not yet of a length to trail in the water. He fleetingly wondered how long it would take to grow back. 

Azog-ra was watching from the other side of his own cage, loincloth back in place. Legolas knew that the other prisoner's vision was equally good at night. His irritation would not allow him to remain silent. "Do you feel better now?" he enquired, archly.

There was a snort. Azog-ra drew closer to the shared bars. "You do not."

"No, I do not." Legolas pulled a wet cloth over his face and left it there.

"You are unsated. For many weeks."

It was appalling that the other could know that. "You do it enough for both of us," Legolas replied, dryly.

The now familiar laugh was unexpectedly rich with true humor. "Have you always been with males?"

"No." He surprised himself in answering at all.

"Couldn't bring myself to be with a female." Azog-ra shuddered.

That was quite a startling revelation. "Everyone is different," he replied after a long pause. 

"And you have an answer to everything."

"Why will you not speak elvish?" Legolas said, peevishly. "You understand it."

"It is not possible for me to make the softer sounds." He demonstrated, and the words emerged somewhat garbled although better than many humans could manage. 

"His _gifts_ ," Legolas corrected, slightly. He could not help himself. “Your elvish is passable.”

There was an answering snarl, but it was half-hearted. “I do not like to do anything _passably_.” There followed a long silence during which Legolas heard only breathing and the slow drip of water escaping the drainstop. And then, "You took the human in your mouth as though it satisfied you."

"I do not wish to speak of this."

"You aren't speaking of it. I am."

Legolas shrugged, exasperated.

"I understand this desire. Many do not. It is almost my favorite thing, sucking cock."

The shock of the language took a moment to pass. Curiosity drove Legolas' next thought which became a question before he could stifle it. "How is it accomplished with such fangs?"

"Easily enough. Fangs are smooth and round. There is room between and no harm from them if the other teeth are covered."

The concept of orcish art in any endeavor rather boggled Legolas. "I had no idea that orcs bothered with such niceties."

"Uruks," Azog-ra admonished. “I am not snaga.”

"Right."

"I became the source of some humor as a result of my _niceties_."

That struck home. Legolas flinched. "I am sorry."

"I'm not. It helps not to know shame for such matters," Azog-ra grinned, fangs fully on display. He leaned forward. "I would enjoy sucking you," he rumbled. 

Legolas decided he had had enough taunting and began to rise from the tub. 

"If you do that, I will see you naked. Again." 

Legolas froze. He shouldn't care. He slid back into the water, eliciting a hearty laugh. "I have surprised you, I think, with the nature of my interest. You imagined that we are all rapists, slavering to rut in your unwilling bodies. It's convenient, in war, to think this of all the enemy."

"I wish that you would stop speaking," Legolas murmured fervently.

"Do you know what I would most like, besides to simply feel of your skin?" As usual, Azog-ra did not wait for an answer. "I would want you to fuck me.” He used the human word. “You need it. I need it."

Unwanted images flooded his brain. His fingers dug into the sides of the tub. 

"It would be difficult, here. Perhaps I could back up to the bars. My lower legs fit through."

"Please stop." 

"Am I disgusting you again?"

The answer hung on the tip of Legolas' tongue for a long time. "No," he said, finally. He was disgusting himself.

"Want it then?" The tone was bluntly curious, not taunting.

"I will not fall for tricks."

"Yes, a fine trick, to get myself conveniently positioned with my legs stuck through the bars, balanced on my one hand. Excellent for close combat."

Legolas had to laugh at that, ruefully. Azog-ra got to his feet and made his way down, into his den. "I am not laughing at you," Legolas called. 

The fearsome head reappeared. A jar slid between the bars. He ascended the rest of the stairs, and walked to the bars, muscles rippling. "I don't ask you to trust me for other… pass-times, but this would pose no threat to you."

Legolas sat still in the water, his body betraying him with its every response. "No."

"No one can see. There are no rounds until the small hours. And you have curtains," he said, attempting the elvish word for the hangings. "We'd be adequately warned if they come early."

"It is not that."

"What, then? Must you find me pleasing to look at in order to perform? I doubt that." 

Legolas rubbed the washcloth over his face. "What I want, on impulse, and what I do, are rarely the same thing."

The other was quiet for a few moments. "I am puzzling the turn of your phrase. You want to do it—that is of note. You think of it only as a fleeting thought. Understandable. I retract my offer for the time being. But you should consider doing more things on impulse, not less. Most of life cannot be planned."

"One of the worst things that I have ever done occurred because of an impulsive reaction. And so I am here." He rose from the tub and toweled off, trying to ignore the eyes on him.

"You were unprepared that your troops would disobey."

"In hindsight, it seems I absolutely should have been prepared." Legolas wrapped the damp linen about his hips. "You would have expected it, yes?"

Azog-ra shrugged. "Among us, it is a death sentence to disobey orders--unless they are orders the captain wants us to disobey. Reading the difference requires experience. Many do not live to accumulate the needed experience." He began to pace along the bars that separated them. "Have only bad things come of your own quick reactions?"

"They have saved me more than once. But I would call that acting on instinct, not on impulse."

Azog-ra grumbled. "Always such fine distinctions with elves." 

"I grant that one of the best things that I ever did also came of a quick response." He thought of Aragorn. Whatever pain awaited, he would not take back that particular turning point. He felt more relaxed that the conversation had turned from the carnal to issues of the mind, and his blood had cooled. He regarded Azog-ra across the short distance. "I will consider your argument. And I will contemplate your offer although it has been withdrawn. I would ask you not to renew it in the meantime." 

Azog-ra nodded. "It is a reasonable request. I am ready for sleep. May we see the dawn."

"Dream well." The exchange had become a bit of a nightly game as each refused to use the other's customary phrases. Legolas was often punished with a bit of ribaldry about dreams, but tonight, there was no riposte. Azog-ra's deference both surprised and troubled him.  
*******


	11. Exceptions

He considered the problem for several days. During that time, his cellmate kept his word. They played chess, mended clothing, argued matters of interest, ate in companionable silence. Azog-ra did not so much change his manner, he simply omitted any direct sexual commentary. This did cut down considerably on the number of words he used in a given day.

Legolas observed himself in these interactions. He was no stranger, in war, to finding individuals to be other than expected of their kind or their place in the world. But the shift to accept Azog-ra as a peer was proving a particular stretch for him. 

Outside immediate battle, any self-respecting elf would still _think_ of individual orcs as nothing more than vile pests that had wandered from a hive, a blight to be pressed to extinction. But the elf would show self-righteous restraint in acting upon the thought. The very codes that declared orcs enemies to be killed in an armed confrontation, required honorable treatment of them as prisoners. They were sentient beings, however repugnant. 

Legolas had come to think of Azog-ra more as an individual than as a species. He wondered if the makers of the law had anything like the experience he was having. It seemed unlikely. 

It was possible that Azog-ra had an agenda to obtain information or do harm. But Legolas had not made the decision to live in proximity to an enemy, and he would defer to his father's wisdom. Thranduil must know that Legoals would not purposefully disclose anything of import, no matter who shared the space with him. And Mithrandir had come, knowing the unusual circumstances, providing the uruk with yet more information. 

Azog-ra must be faced with the same questions—would casual interactions endanger his people? Was he bound to keep to himself for his entire captivity?

All this intellectualizing helped Legolas to ignore his body's interest in the prospect that had been presented. Yet, there were reminders. He was reminded in the whisper of fingers passing food back and forth, neither hasty nor hostile. Legolas regularly traded meat for fruit and greens. Azog-ra would offer his tea for milk. That they were served the same meal, and were expected to make do or negotiate, was of interest. 

It was easy to dismiss orcs as monsters and not as kin. But here was a mind and sharp wit, menace, and desire.

And although, sharply breaking with habit, Azog-ra kept any salacious thoughts to himself, he did not stop himself looking. Legolas was beginning to learn the micro-expressions that flickered underneath the stoic features. He would swear that taking off his shirt to wash it made the uruk salivate. This presented no small cause for wonderment.

He found himself surreptitiously watching Azog-ra with _touch_ in mind. Even without war-paint, he was physically intimidating, nearly seven feet tall and laden with heavy muscle. After hearing him roar on more than one occasion, Legolas had grown accustomed to thinking of Azog-ra's flattened face as feline rather than comparing his features to elven standards. His thick black and red hair did rather evoke a mane. Legolas would never say any of this aloud—unlike elves, the uruk might not find comparison to the Valar's other creations to be complimentary. But it was of comfort to strip away the mythos of The Enemy and look at Azog-ra like any of the other predators that Legolas had been taught to admire in the wild. But then, he had never been aroused by beasts, therefore, the comparison remained insufficient.

Once the idea of attraction had seeded into the vivid memory of how Azog-ra sounded in release, it was impossible not to look at him as a sexual being. As they separately conducted their daily exercise, Legolas found himself flowing through forms by rote while focused on the other's grace and power, his highly defined muscles rippling under shining skin. 

And then, there came a further turning point. Azog-ra had lunged into a precarious arch to grab a vertical bar behind, one-handed. Legolas caught himself glancing at his stretched loincloth with interest— _strained_ actually seemed a more apt description for the fabric's state—and a sudden pang of response took him by surprise. 

Later, he was folding his laundry away and musing on which taboos exactly would be broken by doing something about how he felt, when a storm broke, blowing rain halfway into his cage on the east side. He retreated inward, which brought him closer to Azog-ra without the excuse of food or a chess board between them. Azog-ra moved closer as well, although not driven to it by the rain falling on the perimeter of his space. It seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject.

"I have finished considering and contemplating," he began, taking what he hoped was a lighter, humorous approach. 

Those light-amber eyes tracked him as he paced. "I thought you must have discarded the notion by now."

"What you proposed is not only anathema, it requires a level of trust I don't yet have."

"Understandable. If you were careless, I would not find you interesting," Azog-ra rumbled. He folded his arms before him. "I did not ask to touch you, I asked you to touch me in such a way that I could not possibly harm you. What need is there for trust?"

Legolas bared his teeth and stepped even closer. "I would be a coward to accept such terms. Is that what you think of me?"

A low growl answered his show of aggression, but its tone was something other than angry. It _invited_.

And so he answered. "You withdrew your offer. I am speaking in the hypothetical."

"I renew my proposal. Now make a choice."

Distantly, some internalized version of the elders in his life began pleading with him. He shut them away. He did not belong to them for this time, here. His chin notched higher. "We will touch and be touched. At equivalent risk. If at any time either of us requests to stop, it will be immediately honored."

"Accepted." One-handed, as he always must now, Azog-ra unbuckled his belt, letting the loincloth fall. 

Legolas fought to keep his eyes on Azog-ra's face, on his fierce yellow and black eyes. He had not meant _now_ and yet, how could he have expected any other response from the other? His pulse raced. Would it be so very different from touching Tahlten? They had not loved each other. Or the guard members who had fumbled at him in a shared tent without even knowing who was whom. He finally allowed his eyes to drop. His body responded urgently. 

Azog-ra nodded once, almost a salute, then turned away, beginning to kneel.

"Not so," Legolas said. 

Azog-ra froze and then turned slowly back toward him, eyes narrowing. "You try my patience."

Legolas walked to the bars and stopped, just out of reach. He locked eyes with the other, and took the last two steps that brought him to the bars. It was one of many possible moments of truth. No claws grasped at his throat.

Azog-ra stepped to the bars on his side. Smelled of him closely. "What, then?"

Being scented like that was strangely arousing. Legolas reached through the bars and grasped the hardness just beyond them, causing a surprised growl. He stroked, feeling his way along the heavier texture of skin, sliding the thick sheath along the shaft. He put aside the immediate images of animal anatomy. This close, Azog-ra smelled like blood and cinders, hot earth with a hint of fresh meat eaten raw. 

Azog-ra's single hand neared his face, and Legolas steeled himself not to flinch. The reddish-black fingers were easily twice the thickness of his. The sight of lancinate claws so close to his eyes brought his instinctive defenses to the fore. He kept one hand casually free; he thought he would be fast enough to stop any lasting damage. 

One by one, fingers settled on his face, lightly. "How do you fight us?" The voice was a low rumble now. A claw pressed delicately, testing. "You are not made at all to sustain a blow."

"Try me," Legolas said, his teeth baring again. The flesh in his hand jumped. Clearly, Azog-ra found his aggression appealing.

"We agreed," Azog-ra answered, "no danger." The fingers slid over a cheekbone to cup Legolas' nape, thumb touching a pulse point. "I would do nothing to halt your present activity," he added with a chuckle. He braced the shoulder of his maimed arm against the bars, shifting his weight to that foot. Feeling of a shoulder, then Legolas' ribcage, the sweep of his lower back, the curve of his belly, the hand deliberately made its way downward, taking its time. 

During that span, Legolas admitted to himself that he was not stopping. The limited range of trust blunted his excitement somewhat, but the sharpening of his protective instincts brought all his senses alive. Beyond leathern skin and flattened features, he could sense the core of the individual, elemental and strong. His breath caught hard when Azog-ra took him in a sudden, firm grip, claws clacking together. "Yes," he whispered, hitching closer to the bars.

"You could have fucked me. Instead, you accept this. I do not understand you."

An accompanying rough twist made sparks burst behind Legolas' eyes. His free hand lifted to a chest as hardened as a forged breastplate. 

Azog-ra tightened his grasp and lowered his head to speak closely in Legolas' ear. "Did the elf first require a semblance of _tenderness_?" He used the elvish word, there apparently being no orcish equivalent. Though all musicality was lost in the speaking, Legolas understood. 

"I require honesty," he replied. "And to acknowledge you. If I did not want to touch _you_ , I would make do with my own hands. The time that passes is not so long for me." 

"You lie," Azog-ra said, his breath hissing between the bars, "the time is excruciating. I see it in your eyes. You are accustomed to companions." In the continued stroking, Legolas felt the rough hand slicken against him and he swallowed a moan. Azog-ra snarled softly in response. "So am I."

"Do you pretend that my body is another’s?" Legolas managed to gasp. He maintained the slower, tighter rhythm for Azog-ra that he sensed was right. 

"I want _this_ body." The answer rumbled like distant thunder. 

A spark deep in his belly warned him that he liked knowing that was so. "Is this rough enough?" he asked.

"More."

Legolas drove his palm down harder, his fingertips jabbing into the heavy flesh at the base. Azog-ra threw his head back and a harsh noise of encouragement issued. On impulse, Legolas slid to his knees and brought both hands to work, losing the intense pleasure of the reciprocal touch.

There were no illusions. No elf or man reached these proportions or bore these colors. He braced himself for ill smell as he inhaled and found, again, the scent of blood, stronger, as if he touched a fresh wound. Azog-ra felt wonderful in his hands, powerful and real, alive. The huge feet shifted wider, the broad hand caught around a bar, balancing lopsided weight as he thrust into Legolas' hands with increasing vigor. 

In a sudden flash, Legolas wondered at the consequences of being found this way by his fathers' guards. They would kill Azog-ra, unthinking, assuming that he had snared Legolas by force. He paused to gauge the time by the stars. It was early yet. He had time to share some of the gifts of light. His lips parted and he took the head in his mouth with effort. A great, surprised shudder reverberated through the bars against his knee and shoulder. Salt, and ash, and blood, tang of copper and iron. He moaned. No, this was not Aragorn. Nor sweet greenery of his own kind either. But if this was part of his punishment, he would have more of it, more of this lesson. 

For him, this kneeling was not gauged for fast release, it was meant to undo the other by slow degrees. His jaw ached. It took much work to hold Azog-ra's length at bay, for the heavily-muscled hips slammed unheeding into the bars. There would be bruises tomorrow, though they would not show on the dark, mottled skin. 

He heard the bright ring of teeth on metal as Azog-ra locked them there, far above, to free his hand. Five sharp points touched the top of Legolas' head and slid in a widening pattern through his hair, then slowly closed again, slid open, repeated, in rhythm with his efforts. It raised gooseflesh and brought the nerves along all of his skin into concert.

Something wet struck his shoulder and he startled, teeth grazing the overfilled flesh. Azog-ra's short growl in response sounded a demand and Legolas felt the great body thrust harder. He realized Azog-ra was salivating. A low, continuous rumble began, louder on the exhalation, softer on the intake of breath. He left his teeth bare but gentle, freeing his tongue and lips. The shiver of pleasure on his scalp intensified, the sensation looping down his spine and upward again. 

There was no warning beyond the slightest break in Azog-ra's steady rhythm before the roar near-deafened him. The claws stilled, pricking into his scalp. He hung on, choking, fighting for the balance of needed breath and desired skill. Despite the effort, his own surprise registered, and he drank of the same clean essence he had grown to crave. Afterward, without thinking, he pressed his fingers to his lips as if to hold the flavor inside.

The claws left him and Azog-ra shifted again, releasing his jaws from the bar as he eased his bulk to the floor. The hand appeared to blur in Legolas' vision as finger-pads touched his cheek, wiping away sticky wetness. "I made you bleed. I didn't mean to," Azog-ra said, heavily. 

Legolas' fingers left his own shocked lips to smooth the trickles of blood from his forehead and a drop from his ear. "No matter," he whispered. "It is superficial." He closed his eyes. "And the feeling of it...." He shuddered. 

"Something small in return," Azog-ra murmured, touching his fingers to his lips and licking them, "for the pleasure you were giving me. I didn't know if you would like it."

Legolas groaned in simple response. They sat in silence for a time.

In teaching a lesson Legolas thought redundant, Thranduil could never have dreamed his son would learn of this. "It is a great pity that there cannot be peace," he quipped.

Azog-ra snorted derisively. "The Master is not about peace. Neither are my people. Do not mistake me from this night, Lul, there will be no mercy from the strong. No offers to be trusted from the weak." He wiped his bloody lips on the back of his hand. "He has taught us to feed on you. To get the taste of conquering."

"Why are you different?"

"Am I?" They sat in silence for a time before Azog-ra spoke again. "I don't trust His promises. If there are any of us, or of you, left in his wake, we'll see."

"Do you desire to make a meal of me?" Legolas tried to be humorous in the asking, but the sight of Azog-ra tasting his blood was not to be ignored.

"Because I licked your blood from my hand?" Another snort. "It is something we do with our comrades. We don't waste the gift of life. Nourishment is scarce on the battlefield and wounds are plenty." He slid a bit closer, leering a bit. "You are more useful alive. You made a meal of me, though. Should I be worried?"

Legolas laughed in surprise. "I do not know what I expected." He leaned a shoulder on the bar, relaxing against it. Only a veneer of his guard remained. 

Azog-ra's face grazed his shoulder, fangs sliding over his skin. "When you recover, then, will you fuck me?" 

The request stirred banked need deep in Legolas' belly, but he shook his head in negation.

There was a huffing snort against his skin. "You make no sense. If you think me spent, you have much to learn.”

“You misread me. I am not prepared to share that experience with another, not after… him.”

“Your males are not expected to _pair-bond_ through fucking, are they?” Azog-ra asked in amazement. 

“It is not that,” Legolas replied. “I simply cannot.”

Azog-ra snorted. Rough fingers grazed him, and his traitor flesh jumped in response. “I think you are lying." 

"What I mean to say is that I cannot, without thinking of him. We have already agreed that we will be present to each other, have we not?

Azog-ra sighed in what sounded like resignation. "Too bad. I'm in want of a thorough rutting.” 

"I cannot imagine how I could satisfy _that_ need," Legolas said with some chagrin. “Unless you are out of proportion with other males of your kind.” 

"If you have a fraction of the skill with your cock that you do with your tongue, I'd be pleased. Since you refuse, there are other things I could do for you.”

Legolas checked the stars. “The guards will arrive soon."

Azog-ra rose and walked to the stairs, collecting his loincloth on the way. Legolas got up with effort and went to draw a bath. He washed his hair, removing the traces of blood, then relaxed into the water. Scant minutes had passed when he heard the synchronized stride of the guards.

"You are awake late," the more senior guard commented. "Is all well?"

Legolas opened his eyes. "Fine. He has gone to sleep before me for a change. I fancied a star-watch."

"Myelin sends regards… to her childhood friend."

"Please send her mine, in return. I appreciate the book she sent." 

The guards saluted and went on their way. Legolas waited until he heard the outer gate clang shut and the voices recede on the way to the next pair of cages deeper in the forest. He climbed from the tub and dried himself, smoothing his hair, still unused to how quickly the moisture left it. He listened and heard no stirring below. Apparently, Azog-ra had succumbed to sleep. Leaning on the bars in the direction of home, Legolas allowed himself to drift. 

"I waited until their scent was gone," Azog-ra said, breaking Legolas' reverie. "In case they decided to come back."

"You can detect us so well?" he asked, surprised.

"Now that I know the smell of your forest, I can distinguish your people from it. Before, you were the same as the leaves. Too much green, not enough earth or stone. Elves are difficult to find." His gaze swept Legolas from head to foot. "You in particular have the scent of gold in the forge in all that green. It is a rare metal for us as well, one that the Master feeds to his dragons. They prefer it in liquid form." His gaze lingered at Legolas' hips. "You cooled."

"I will be here for ten more months. Why the hurry?" Legolas asked. 

"Why not?" Azog-ra turned and paced the length of his cage, dipping water to drink from the cistern. "It could be tomorrow that my jailers decide I must die."

"Under the Law of Prisoners, you cannot be killed. Unless you try to escape or harm one of us."

Judging by Azog-ra’s expression, this information was new. He shrugged, reflexively covering his surprise. "They could move me. Decide that they've punished you enough with my presence."

"I am being taught a lesson. Perhaps you are as well." 

Azog-ra laughed low and hostile. "I doubt the lesson being learned is the one they think they're teaching."

Legolas watched him move, looking with different vision than he had before. Azog-ra had already learned to balance the missing limb with grace, and he exercised the bicep of the maimed arm daily; it was still as big as Legolas' thigh. "Although I will not do it, I cannot help but wonder, why do you wish so to be… ridden?"

"Have you never wished it, Lul?"

"I meant by me. Your enemy. Here, in the place of your subjugation."

Azog-ra regarded him for a long moment. "We are not on a battlefield. I am a maker of weapons and a soldier, not a spy, and we are both in captivity. You aren't my enemy here," Azog-ra replied gruffly. "When you are the one beneath, do you feel the lesser for it?"

His voice was too thick with memory to allow an answer.

"You of any ought to understand the call of the unusual." Azog-ra took a couple of steps forward. “You have broken my long fast tonight, and I would return the favor. If not in that way, in another.”

“Reciprocity is not required,” Legolas said, gently. “It was not a transaction.”

"I would like to touch you more. I have missed touching what is fine to me. You have that smooth spareness of my favorite javelin. I hardened it in the fire, but it kept the whiteness of the tree. It pierces the enemy clean." He scowled and flexed his hand. "I enjoyed the sensation of your hair beneath my palm. You wear it shorter than any other elf. This is good. Makes you look less like a female."

"Ah. For me, it is a sadness. The length of it was taken at my sentencing." Legolas made a gesture of slashing. He bowed his head with the memory of his father's hands and his own knife lightening the weight of his hair.

“It will grow, and still, I will not mind. It is as soft as a new warg cub.” Azog-ra’s fingers rubbed together. 

“That is not a comparison I could ever have imagined.”

“Because we embrace harshness, as the world demands of us, you think we have only ugly pleasures. You would be wrong. Come closer." 

Legolas stepped forward until he nearly touched the bars again. Meeting the seemingly cold gaze, he extended his instincts and felt only a little danger, like the vigilance one must have in keeping a wild animal as a companion.

The gruff voice said, "Turn around." 

He turned. Almost immediately, he felt Azog-ra's breath hot against the nape of his neck and he held his own breath. To his amazement, the other nuzzled him, and continued doing so until his own breathing became audible from the stimulation. 

The soft touch left as the great head lifted to full height. Considerable heat pressed to him wherever the open space allowed them to touch. Azog-ra's shortened arm came through the bars and across his chest, without constraining him. A sharp chin set itself atop his head. When he had calmed his breathing and eased his weight back against the heat behind him, the sound arm snaked around his waist, holding the jar for Legolas to take. 

“So we do not tear your skin against my calluses.”

Legolas deftly unscrewed the top. He sniffed it.

Azog-ra snorted, "You care about the smell?"

Legolas grinned. "If this is healing salve, it would deaden the feeling."

"Shagrat's Balls, that would be bad."

Legolas almost laughed. Determining that the problem ingredients were not present, he dipped a generous amount and put the jar on the floor. He smoothed the balm into Azog-ra’s palm, massaging thumb and fingers, avoiding scraping his own hands on the massive claws. Azog-ra seemed to enjoy the touch, something like a purr gathering far back in his throat. An unmistakable hard length pressed into the small of his back. Several minutes passed and then Legolas felt fangs at his nape and he went still. They withdrew.

“Stop distracting me from my task,” Azog-ra grumbled. His hand slid down over Legolas’ chest and belly, finally taking him in a strong grip. With his chin, he nudged Legolas to tip his head forward, and then began to lick the nape of his neck with long strokes, in rhythm with his hand. 

It produced a dizzying combination of sensations. Legolas gasped aloud. 

At the sound, Azog-ra thrust along Legolas’ sensitive back, which added another pleasure. A low, continuous growl started behind him, and the large hand squeezed him hard enough to hurt a little amid the pleasure. It kept him from spending right then.

Somewhere in the midst of the steady motions, Legolas lost his ability to speak orcish. The sibilant words he spoke unconsciously were imbued with pleasure and strength, and Azog-ra responded in orcish. Legolas heard the guttural words as though they were speaking the same language. Neither lasted much longer.

When he returned to thought, he realized that they were crouched half-upright against the cage. He pushed himself half to standing, staggering a little with the return of blood flow, changed his mind and sat rather heavily for an elf. 

Azog-ra’s hand scooped wetness from his belly and chest and flicked it away. "Not bad for such a delicate being, Legolas.”

The laugh caught in his throat as he realized what had been said, though it was different in the orcish sounds. "How?"

"The man said it when you pleased him that night."

Legolas put his head on his knees, dismayed. "I didn't hear it." Still, his hand lingered on Azog-ra's leg. 

"I know who you are. I have known since that night. You must consider with extra care whether I have planned some deviousness."

"Have you?"

"It would be a strange gambit, eh? I could have simply lured you into range with chess, snapped your neck or taken you hostage."

"You think it would be so easy," Legolas snorted. He changed the subject. "It is forbidden to use my name. I have been stripped of it during my imprisonment."

"What more will they do to me?" Azog-ra grumbled. "I will use it if I choose. Unless you tell me not to. Do you prefer _Flowers_ after all?"

“Call me what pleases you," Legolas sighed. 

"Don’t retreat like that.” Azog-ra admonished. “I will use your name in respect, as you do mine.” He grasped Legolas’ shoulder and shook him a little. “And you must learn to think of your man and yet still live your life. As a warrior, you have no choice.” 

It was beyond disconcerting to hear wise counsel in this context. Legolas replied, finally, “I do not mean to be discourteous. You took me by surprise—knowing my name.”

Azog-ra shrugged. “I might have said it to balance the power. Twice tonight I have been… overwhelmed in taking pleasure of you. And I want it again,” he said, wonderingly.

Trying to ignore the pangs the hungry tone evoked, Legolas formulated what he hoped was a mitigating response. “There is a simple explanation. Is there an orcish word for _fetish_?”

Azog-ra burst out laughing, and the matter was eased.  
*******


	12. Crossing Over

Chess pieces swiftly diminished on both sides. "I would like to repeat our encounter of yesterday. Perhaps regularly." Legolas kept his gaze on the board, his ears tuned to any response. 

“I see no harm. You owe me nothing. I've no debt to you. It speeds our time. Nothing more." Azog-ra seemed to casually consider the alternatives before him although Legolas was sure he had decided several moves ago. 

It seemed improbable that _nothing more_ could be an accurate characterization of the subject under consideration, given what history lay between their peoples. Legolas grunted in reply and captured a piece.

Azog-ra continued, “But sometimes, I must be alone with my hands and my thoughts.” Legolas’ eyes flicked to meet his. Azog-ra toyed with a wizard. “I enjoy you, but I must not neglect the ones I miss.”

“ _Ones_?”

“Back home, I have two _kurvanul_ ,” Azog-ra answered, with pride.

For Legolas, it translated something vulgar, like _fuck-toys_. In light of Azog-ra’s unusually dignified demeanor, he wondered--not for the first time--how accurate the dictionaries were. He cocked his head. “Separately or together?”

Shrugging, Azog-ra said, “Depends on the day.”

Legolas contemplated stumbling upon the fearsome sight of three male uruks fully engaged in sexual activity and shook his head in something bordering awe. It cost him a strategic position on the board. He refocused.

“I honor each separately as well.”

“Honor…”

“With seed.” Azog-ra’s expression turned quizzical. “Do you not have this custom?” 

Suddenly, the frequent activity that had so disgusted Legolas took on a different meaning. “Ah, no. When we… do that, it is merely for self-pleasure.”

Azog-ra's expression was nothing short of shocked. “You. The people with crafty spells in your every word? How can you not employ simple blood-magic for your mates?” He shoved the board aside without regard to the fact that he was winning. “You could stay connected to your man, no matter the distance. I will teach you.”

Legolas shook his head. “His destiny lies away from me. Far away. I will not interfere.” 

Azog-ra stared at him for several moments. “I was wrong. You are Ang Gijak-Ishi.” His voice was almost hushed in its restraint.

“I don’t understand… _iron_?”

Azog-ra attempted the elvish translation. “Iron-in-the-blood. Not flowers after all.” Through the bars, he grasped Legolas’ thigh and gave him a shake. “Honoring is not interfering. The connection is already there. You assume that it weakens him. It could be a source of strength for you both. I will teach you.”

Legolas smiled, thinly. “Apparently, I have no choice. Is this a pretense for more fetish?”

Chuckling, Azog-ra pricked his claws lightly into the thigh beneath. “I need no pretense. You just offered yourself to me on a regular basis." He reached for a folded blanket from the nearby chair and handed it through. Legolas regarded it without immediate comprehension. “You prefer to lie down,” Azog-ra prompted.

Chagrined at that level of knowledge, Legolas slid the blanket beneath his head and reclined. And then, he changed his mind and sat up. 

His cellmate grumbled, “I have the watch. No guards will see you.”

“You will.”

“How else will I teach you properly?” Azog-ra retorted, humor very much evident. “Now, given your concerns about the man, it would be best to start with someone for whom you feel somewhat less responsibility.” The hand returned to his thigh, five sharp points of contact and a hot palm.

Legolas sighed and eased back. Hands at his sides, he closed his eyes and let himself drift on thoughts of Tahlten. The night of the storm came to mind, and what flashed to him most strongly was the sight of his own hands gripping Tahlten’s sweat-slicked flanks to hold him still as he drove forward. Pleasure surged through him. The hand and claws slowly pulsed against his thigh, somehow mirroring the rhythm in his mind although his body was still. Legolas bit his lip to counteract the sharp ache in his groin. He hesitated to touch himself in broad daylight in front of Azog-ra. 

“You are testing my limits,” Azog-ra grumbled. “But if I touch you as I wish, it will spoil the lesson.” He brushed aside Legolas’ tunic and loosened the constraining leggings before resuming his thigh-grip. “Concentrate on how he sounded. I will remain silent until you need guidance.”

Tahlten had been a vocal partner when they had found the privacy for it. The recollection evoked an almost painful throbbing. He gripped himself hard, past caring that he had an audience. He was growing close when the voice intruded again. “Look in his eyes."

This instruction necessitated a shift of imagery. He faltered as he realized that they had avoided looking in one another's eyes. "I cannot, with him." 

The big hand squeezed reassuringly. "Good, you understand that. Instead, think of the one you truly miss."

He turned his thoughts to Aragorn and easily slipped into a moment between them. Aragorn was above him, their bodies sliding against one another in a sweat, eyes locked. That brief glimpse almost brought him. 

"Easy… you must have the words, and the translation is not literal… _I see you, and honor you._ It must be said at the very peak."

He struggled against his hand and the memory, exquisite and painful. He let it unfold as it had that afternoon, Aragorn's gaze steady, even as the man lost himself and he followed. "I see you, and honor you," he whispered, imbuing the phrase with love. He felt the spill of pleasure, the desperation, and then his breath, the words, felt stretched, thinned, and suddenly, he was face-to-face with Aragorn, somewhere in the palace at Imladris. He did not breathe. There was no breath to be had in this space. Startled grey eyes _believed_ despite the impossibility. He leaned in, lips brushing in a kiss. The shock of stone beneath his shoulders brought him back and he gasped to fill his lungs. His whole body trembled.

He opened his eyes. Azog-ra had withdrawn his hand and sat easy by the bars. Surprisingly, he remained silent. 

As Legolas dried himself, he felt a spill of tears threaten and turned his face away.

Azog-ra sighed out a long breath. "In this, there is no weakness." He moved to the other side of his cage.

Legolas let the tears flow and they soon ceased. He sat up, dried his face, and righted his clothing. "My thanks. It is an immense thing to have shared." 

Azog-ra shrugged. "It does not succeed for all who attempt it. The binding between you must be strong."

"You did not say so, before."

"It is best to try first, and in that way, learn the truth."

"I startled him. If that was real."

"It occurred in both your minds at once. He cannot understand precisely without explanation, but no matter. He will know it was something more than a daydream."

Suddenly understanding the hubris of his people in assuming that they had catalogued all the magic in the world, Legolas hauled himself to his feet. "You have taught me something of great import to your people. What do you ask in return?" 

Azog-ra was leaning against the bars on the far side of the cage. "Nothing."

"Do you seek my indebtedness?"

"It was not a transaction," Azog-ra replied with some humor.

His own words reflected back. "My apologies for thinking otherwise. And my further apologies for mocking you in this… activity. I did not understand."

"Later, we will speak of it more." The uruk turned his back and gazed out upon the clearing. 

"Is anything amiss?" 

"You have… disturbed me. I don't have words for it."

Legolas considered with care how to respond. To recognize any gentle emotions in the other would of necessity provoke a show of aggression. "I find myself suddenly exhausted. I will go below to rest for a short time." He left without awaiting a response. In fact, he did not sleep, but spent some time musing upon the problems of communicating across an ocean of difference. Or, perhaps it was only a river after all.  
*******

In the afternoon, he watched as the guards switched the inner gate to allow Azog-ra access to the single, narrow run. For the first month, they had been denied this space, large enough for running a short distance at full speed and giving them the choice of fifty yards space from one another instead of five. Both had been grateful for it. The message was clear—there were privileges that could be revoked. 

Azog-ra ran back and forth for nearly an hour, then spent the rest of the daylight sitting at the full distance gazing outward. Legolas wrote in his journal and performed his own exercises. 

At the evening meal, Azog-ra came to sit in the accustomed place on the other side of the bars. "I should not react in your presence as I do. It makes no sense to me."

Dropping lembas back to his plate, Legolas took a single bite of meat and handed the rest through the bars. Azog-ra took a single slice of a pear and passed the remainder through. "I could say the same."

"And today, I felt something of him when you broke through. Far away, but I felt it."

"What does that mean?"

"Who knows? I only know that it is strange." Azog-ra made a dismissive gesture. "Let us forget the unknown for the moment. The level of want you provoke seems impossible. Even as far away as I can be, like today, your scent is maddening. I honor my kurvanal each day. And even when you and I have already touched, I still must think of you and do it again before I sleep."

It was a surprise. "There have been days like that for me as well," he admitted.

"I've proven immune to most of your kind's trickery, and I do not think this is that. And it is not fetish after all, though I was glad for the opportunity to save face by calling it so."

"Rather than torturing ourselves with _why_ , should we not simply enjoy it?"

Azog-ra coughed. He brought his face close to the bars and scrutinized Legolas. "I would not have expected to hear that from you. Do you have a fever?"

Legolas laughed. It was the first light moment of the day. He reached through the bars and ran the back of his hand down Azog-ra's belly. "I admit to feeling warm for the cool of the evening." By the time his fingers reached the loincloth, it was bulging. He pushed the food tray aside and crouched closer, working the material aside. There was something deeply satisfying about getting his hands on the oversized flesh. It was at the sort of absurd scale he had imagined in the days when only fantasy served and practicality was irrelevant.

Azog-ra took a fistful of Legolas' hair and tipped his head back so they were looking into each other's faces. "You're very good at that," he said, his breath shortening. He let loose the tight hold, but Legolas kept their eyes locked while he continued his ministrations. Shorter and shorter came the breaths as Legolas varied his touch from soft to rough and back again. 

"You didn't touch yourself when you watched me today," he observed.

"Would have been disrespectful."

"But you wanted to."

The only answer was a long groan and hot wetness spraying his hands and forearms. Only then did the huge eyes slide closed. 

Later, Legolas gently rebuffed overtures in return. 

"You're able," Azog-ra protested.

"I have my reasons, and you'll reap the benefit with a little patience."

Azog-ra regarded him skeptically, but they brought out the board and passed the hour until the guards came. This time, Legolas did not hide their game. He sensed the guards' shock but they were disciplined not to let it show in front of either prisoner. 

"Good evening," Legolas ventured smoothly. He rose and went to the far bars, leading them a bit away from Azog-ra. 

"Are you well?"

"Everything is fine." He paused. "Did you expect we would spend months within whispering distance of each other and never have a conversation?"

"Chess?"

"He analyzed my game with Mirthrandir. Do not underestimate him on the basis of appearance."

"But your safety, Pri…." the guard checked himself. 

"My safety is in no way compromised. I have half a mind to become insulted." 

The younger guard drew himself up taller. "Apologies."

"None are needed. I said _half a mind_ only."

When the somewhat dazed guards had left, Legolas returned to the game. 

"What's your play?" Azog-ra inquired, and he wasn't looking at the board.

"They need to grow accustomed to seeing us in some proximity, just in case. For your safety. Now go to bed." In two moves, Legolas had cornered the King.

*******

After he was certain all had quieted, he went to work on the switch-gate. The mechanism was not difficult, and his jailers weren't worried about him escaping. He only needed a narrow opening, and he was through, into the run. 

The wide doorway to Azog-ra's home, free of bars, loomed before him. His heart hammered. Without weapons, and with the time it would take him to snake his way back through if something went wrong, this constituted a genuine risk. He had killed orcs before in unarmed combat. This would be very different.

He stepped up into the cage. "Azog-ra," he called. "Come above." The silence added to his fright. It occurred to him that smelling of fear was probably an exceedingly bad idea, but it was too late. He heard large feet shifting on stone, and his cellmate ascended, freezing halfway up when he realized where Legolas was standing.

"What are you doing?"

"An experiment." He kept his muscles loose, his balance easy.

Azog-ra stepped up the rest of the way. Even away across the length of the cage, his full height was fearsome. He did not approach. "You are clever with locks. We should apply that talent elsewhere."

"Sadly, I do not know the spell for your lock or mine. But I have been watching them use that one."

"You couldn't let me go if you did know it."

"A decision to be made if the power is ever in my hands." He paused. "I am not here to hurt you." It was pure bravado to say it given how he must smell.

That elicited a chuckle, but it sounded forced.

"I wonder if you are honor-bound to fight me if there are no bars between us."

"It would improve my situation no more now than if I had attacked you months ago. And since I sense that you are here to improve my situation in other ways, it would be… counterproductive." Still, Azog-ra did not move.

Legolas took a step forward. And another. He breathed deeply, willing his pulse into submission. "You can smell my fear. Does that change things between us?"

"You'd be a fool not to be afraid. I'm getting hard at the thought that you're here despite it." 

Legolas reached down and adjusted himself as he surged in response. He made no attempt to disguise the gesture as anything else.

Azog-ra turned and went down the stairs. "It would be best if we are below in case the next watch comes early. You startled them earlier and they might be feeling edgy."

He had to consider whether going below would be more dangerous. He weighed it and followed anyway. Azog-ra lit a lamp. It wasn't necessary for either of them to see, but sight was more complete in the light. Azog-ra sat and then reclined on the pallet. "This is your experiment," he said simply. Legolas stripped off his shirt and took his time unlacing and pulling off his leggings. During the process, Azog-ra took hold of himself through the leather loincloth. 

Legolas drew closer and stood over the recumbent form. For an uruk to take a passive role in the presence of another's fear was unexpected. He deftly removed the little bit of Azog-ra's clothing, knelt and straddled his hips, aligning their cocks, and reached for Azog-ra's hand. "I cannot encompass them both," he said, guiding the other's hand. His thighs clasped tightly. He clenched his teeth at the touch of the hand and the wealth of flesh connecting in a way they could never manage with bars between them. A moan escaped his attempt to stifle it.

"Make that noise again," Azog-ra demanded.

"Make me," Legolas growled back. 

The huge hand moved and Azog-ra rocked beneath him. Legolas moaned louder. Azog-ra grumbled, "Your cock is leaking all over my hand." He tugged hard. "I want it in me. You won't, but I'm telling you anyway."

"I will, actually," Legolas replied. He shifted and kneed one leg to the side. "I am not convinced you will even notice. But challenge has been given and I will answer."

Azog-ra snarled and drew aside the other leg. Legolas felt along the side of the pallet for the jar he felt sure the other kept close. The glass clinked against a stone seam. He caught it up and stroked himself hard as he applied the balm. "Don't you dare spend!" Azog-ra admonished him. 

"I am making myself as big as I can," he hissed back. But he set the jar aside. Azog-ra cursed, an unfamiliar phrase. Legolas smiled and pressed in, the smile vanishing as he found himself seated tightly. Powerful muscles rippled around him. He lost any thought of trying to be effective and threw himself into the experience. He gripped the back of Azog-ra's thigh with one hand, the enormous shaft with the other. Every slow, hard thrust met a counter. 

He was striving for quiet himself—if the watch indeed made a surprise visit, he could not be heard here. His hand moved faster. Azog-ra began to sound like a winded horse at the end of a long gallop, and then he tensed. In total silence, he erupted, clamping down while pale ribbons festooned his torso and the wall beyond his head. Legolas threw his head back and let go.   
*******

Awakening the next morning was a slower process than usual. He had been dreaming, in tangled, confused threads. But the sun was shining above, and he gathered himself to meet it. The forest was well awake. His cellmate apparently was not. 

On his way back through in the small hours, he had adjusted the gate and naught looked amiss with it. He checked it again. The guards would switch the gate today to let him into the run. He fetched his wooden teapot and filled it from the hot inlet. It was an imperfect way to make tea, better than none. Soon, two cups of strong brew sat ready as he worked through a series of stretches.

A rustle behind him alerted him, and he turned. "Someday, I will kill you," Legolas said in orcish greeting.

"Not today." Azog-ra caught up the steaming cup and tossed back its contents in one swallow. "You were full of surprises last night." 

"It would not do to simply meet expectations." Legolas completed a stretch and sat cross-legged with his tea. 

"You were adamant before that you would not… do that," Azog-ra said with surprising discretion.

Legolas nodded. "You gave me a way to reach him. It was an unprecedented day." He poured again for each of them. "And I enjoyed myself."

"I think you know I did. After all your worry that you couldn't satisfy me."

Legolas made a rueful face. "I'm accustomed to being well-endowed, not inadequate." 

"And I'm not representative of my kind either. I never could easily take a big dick. We're oddly compatible in that way."

"Perhaps we are not the first to have discovered it." 

"I doubt there are many elves with your courage." Azog-ra immediately held up his hand. "I kid. Although there are on rare occasion crossed offspring of our kind, it is known that they are born of violence."

"Perhaps so. Who would admit otherwise?" He finished his tea and set the cups away. "In the end, I very much wished you could reciprocate," he confessed.

Azog-ra sighed. "It would not be safe. Nor pleasant for either of us. Though I do think about it. In my imagination, it doesn't hurt you. Of course, in my imagination, I also have both my hands and can lift and hold you to best advantage." He chuckled. "I can see that I'd best stop talking or you'll be greeting the guards with a tent in your leggings."

Perhaps it should have been humiliating, but Legolas laughed aloud. "A constant danger these days."   
*******

When it was Azog-ra's turn again to have the run, Legolas wondered whether the mechanism would be equally cooperative. It was. This time, he crossed boldly, wary but without the terror to interfere with anticipation. 

The arrangements had been simple. Azog-ra had emerged from his tub in the afternoon and said, "Tonight?" It had been enough to bring him hard, which sufficed as an answer. 

He stepped down into the den. Azog-ra had lit the lamp and stood waiting, naked and half-hard. Legolas had left his own clothing back on his bed. 

"Would you mind if you did not fuck me? I've something else in mind."

"Not at all."

"Good, lie down."

He did although it required yet another level of trust. He covered any hesitancy with a long stretch, writhing down into the linens.

"Gods, have a care with that." Azog-ra's shaft had sprung up against his belly. 

Legolas just smiled up at him until Azog-ra growled.

He knelt next to the pallet and began stroking the supine form all over, hair, limbs, face, and body, firmly at first, and then softening until his hands but whispered along the white skin. "Turn over," he commanded, and Legolas complied without a word, lost in the sensations. The same attention was paid all over again. 

Azog-ra lowered his face and breathed along Legolas' spine, then back and forth along his buttocks. He started licking the small of his back, circling each roundness, and then into the cleft. Legolas stiffened for a moment and received the warning prick of fangs in a soft spot. He relaxed, and the tongue resumed. He had not realized how particularly odd this would feel, good and repulsing at once. Azog-ra's hand gripped a buttock and opened him more. He grabbed the linens to keep from pulling away. The stroking kept on, steady and gentle. He started to relax, and the tongue entered, not deeply, but far enough to tease the inner place that begged for fucking. The massive hand rocked him into the strokes.

"I will not last," he gritted out. This only sped the torment, and he came biting the pillow, with Azog-ra groaning against him. While he was still pulsing, he felt the other rise up behind him. A velvet hardness rubbed over and over where the tongue had played. It nudged him, nudged harder, creating a maddening pressure. He lifted on his spread kneed and thrust his rear back, driving toward the teasing, but Azog-ra drew away. 

"I know you want it. That's enough for me."

"Not for me." Legolas panted. 

"Hold still." Azog-ra scooped him closer again and refitted himself. He began thrusting short and sharp, pressing as far as possible without piercing. He had slickened, and Legolas felt a danger that Azog-ra might drive in and tear something, but his control proved masterful. Legolas surrendered to it, leaving all the movement to the other. It felt so good that he started to recover, not capable yet of release, only of building. The thrusts sped up. He prepared, not knowing exactly what would happen but remembering the force of the event the night before. 

Azog-ra pulled back and pressed him flat to the bed, returning to mount the curve of his backside, shaft riding cleft. It was overwhelming and delicious, the amount of power that contained itself for his protection even as Azog-ra chased climax. The other completely covered him, leaving him just enough space to breathe. Legolas squeezed his buttocks together, evoking a choked howl and bringing Azog-ra to shuddering completion. 

A few moments later, the weight withdrew and he was flipped over, sputtering a mild protest at being roughly handled. He had no time to consider or flinch before he found his aching hardness in the other's mouth. His back arched, heedless of sharp teeth. "Yes," he hissed. The amazing tongue wrapped around him adding to the strong grip that twisted in the opposite direction. He heaved a lungful of air, determined to last more than a minute this time. He perhaps lasted two. 

Somewhat later, Azog-ra said, "Now, we have each tasted the other. That makes things right."

"Are we finished then?" Legolas teased. "No more to do?"

He was answered with a good-natured growl. Legolas sighed. "I must go soon before I forget to." It surprised him to consider that he might allow himself to fall asleep here. They both struggled to their feet, leaning against each other. In an instant, Azog-ra was hardening again. His was indeed a people with incredible stamina. 

Legolas leapt up and wrapped his legs around Azog-ra's hips, arms about his shoulders. Reflexively, the big arm encircled him, taking much of his weight. He licked a hand and gripped the head trapped between their bellies. "Close your eyes. Imagine that you _are_ inside." He squeezed with his thighs and his fingers. 

They rocked together steadily until toward the end, Azog-ra bounced him vigorously, sharpening the down-strokes. Surprised to be ready again, Legolas clung, concentrated on not losing his grip, and let the rhythm carry him over. He bit his lip and kept his eyes open. They mingled pleasure in warm spurts against his chin and throat. At the last, Azog-ra's eyes opened and their gazes locked. Surprise battled with release. 

When he slid to stand on the floor, it was heavy on his mind that he had just done with Azog-ra what he never could with Tahlten.   
*******


End file.
